Lunacy Paradox
by littlemaru
Summary: An investigation gone horribly wrong, Scully finds herself caught up in the middle of a highly secret bioweapons incident on the outskirts of the city. She is one of few survivors, struggling to come to terms with reality, whilst the men responsible, and the infected, begin to unleash their nightmare onto the streets of Washington DC.
1. Morning

_Chapter One - Morning_

* * *

She awoke to the haze of a clouded sunrise. It was barely light enough to read her wristwatch, leading her to realise it was missing from her wrist completely. She twisted her neck to where her bedside table should be beside her, only to confirm to her she wasn't even in her bedroom at all. It was in that moment that she realised she was outside, lying on her side in the damp and the cold.

She felt her heart lurch uncomfortably in her chest, causing herself to sit up anxiously; the world was spinning around her. The ground felt wet under the palms of her hands, and to her dismay the earth beneath her had soaked her clothes through to the skin. She ignored the sharp ache running down her neck and spine, attempting to pull herself to her feet without much success as she became overwhelmed with the onset of nausea.

She staggered back down on her side against her will, her previously polished heels scuffed against the ground, her face once more grazing the cold earth. She could taste blood in her mouth.

Scully remembered that that her assignment had gone horribly wrong. Her gun was missing from her possession as she felt for it frantically on herself. Apprehensively she remembered she had dropped it in the darkness, unable to remember why or how. Shots had been fired. It had been too dark, and her memory faltered. She then remembered something else. The blood that had gathered in her mouth since the impact of a fist earlier trickled out of her as she spoke.

"_Mulder_.."

Hazily she wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her coat, before attempting to sit up once more. In the field of over a mile of grass, he was nowhere to be seen.


	2. Disturbance

_Chapter Two – Disturbance_

* * *

Unlike his partner, Fox Mulder awoke in the domestic, slightly cluttered settings of his apartment, aching from a night of sleep in his desk chair.

Immediately he reached for his cell phone – she hadn't called. Much like he had felt six hours ago during the night before, he felt uneasy.

His computer was still switched on, his email account open in the screen. The little numbers in the corner read 06:00am. It was early by his standards.

The night before Mulder had called her and arranged to meet on the outskirts of town at approximately 10.30pm. It would be dark enough then, dark enough to remain hidden and able to see the sky clearly. He had been running late due to a late night car collision on the motorway, a route he scarcely took, and by the time he had got there she must have left already. She wouldn't answer the phone either.

Their assignment had been to investigate reports of late night sightings of strange lights in the sky on the outskirts of town on a particular road known as "Cherry Hill". Usually Skinner would not like Mulder and Scully to pursue such a bland case, but the lights in the sky seemed to disturb the local rural community, with cases of strange violent behaviour and outbursts from its citizens who had no previous record of such aggression.

Aside from interviewing the residents of the area, both victims and witnesses, Mulder had made a few attempts at catching the lights in the sky for himself, to no success. It was a typical X File which much to Scully's dislike involved long nights sitting up with Mulder in the car and simply watching out. She had found it exhausting amongst other things, and had almost hoped the case would be closed as they had barely seen anything more than a few cars driving late through the quiet darkness. However last night had been different; Mulder had received a call to report new sightings that night from numerous locals. He had called a reluctant Scully to ask her to meet him up there on the road.

However by the time he got there, an hour after he had asked to meet her, there were no lights, and there was no Scully. He waited patiently at first, 30 minutes, 50 minutes, 90 minutes…before apprehensively turning the car around to go back. In any case he would've gone to her apartment, but Mulder could take a hint.

He toyed with the idea of phoning her, held back by concerns she really wasn't going to be all that impressed at being called this early after the following late nights.

He stood up from where he had been sleeping at his desk the last 6 hours, took a shower and dressed for work. The news played quietly in the background on his TV, 16C average, light showers throughout the day…

_Better take an umbrella…_

_#####################_

Walter Skinner quite frankly was not in the greatest of moods that morning when he had been advised to investigate the scene of one of his agents botched up assignments. It was an hour's drive out of town, and it was barely 9am. He had scarcely made it into the office when his assistant explained how the police had called to confirm an abandoned car had been found on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere – better known as "Cherry Hill" – and the license plate had been traced back to the FBI, precisely a Miss Dana Scully.

"No one has been able to get in touch with Agent Scully, sir."

"Has she arrived at work yet?"

"No, sir."

She was not exactly the type to abandon a vehicle, but he suspected there were other influences, her partner to be specific. Skinner dreaded to think exactly what they had been doing up at Cherry Hill, aside from the X Files case he briefly knew they were looking into following recent disturbances. They had been told to investigate and interview, but to his suspicions Skinner assumed Mulder had other ideas, particularly with the reports of 'lights in the sky'.

He realised he had been pacing his office nervously, the thought of answering to his superiors about the ruckus his agents had caused now made his blood run cold…until the door to his office opened with his assistant again.

"Agent Mulder's arrived downstairs,"

"Send him up immediately."

"Yes, sir."

His assistant shut the door behind her, sensing the seriousness in Skinner's voice. He adjusted himself nervously, taking note of her lack of mentioning Agent Scully's arrival. He sat down on the chair at his desk, deciding how he would approach the situation, how he would confront Agent Mulder, before deciding to stand up again restlessly and lean against the front of his desk. The door clicked open.

"Sir-"

"Come in Agent Mulder," he interrupted the younger agent. "Shut the door behind you."

Mulder did so, not moving far from the door behind him. He sensed something wasn't quite right.

"Are you aware Agent Scully's car was found abandoned this morning by police?"

"What?"

"I received a phone call from the police at 8 o clock this morning to report an abandoned car licensed to Agent Scully."

Mulder swallowed hard.

"Where?"

"About an hour out of town, near where you were assigned for the Cherry Hill Case."

He felt his heart momentarily race as he attempted to listen to the words in plain English he struggled to understand.

"Agent Mulder we haven't been able to contact her," Skinner interrupted his struggling thoughts, concerned and frustrated over his lack of explanation. "She won't answer her cell-"

"I couldn't get hold of her last night." Mulder answered finally meeting Skinner's stare as it fixated on him. "I don't know where she is."

"Why would she be at the scene of the investigation?"

Sighing nervously, he couldn't help but avoid Skinner's intense stare.

"I asked her to meet me there last night, I received calls about further disturbances-"

"Did you call her on her cell phone?"

"Yes, she was going to meet me at 10.30 at Cherry Hill," he replied, feeling overwhelmed. "She never showed up."

Skinner reached for his suit jacket hanging over the back of his desk chair.

"Mulder we're going to have to trace that call to the last location made from that cell phone," he announced. "We need to go to the scene right now."


	3. An Investigation

_Chapter Three – An Investigation_

* * *

The drive was an uncomfortable hour journey through the city, along crowded streets, busy roads and eventually the interstate. For once in their awkward relationship at the FBI, Agent Mulder did exactly as he was told to by Agent Skinner, and got in the car. He buckled up and remained quiet, watching the streets roll past the window. The autumn air felt more of an Indian summer as his skin began to heat up with a temperature he alone could feel. His shirt clung to his skin as he began to sweat; his nerves were betraying him. The drive alone made him feel sick, dizzyingly so. Mulder tried to focus on breathing deeply, relaxing into the expensive leather seats. He couldn't spew up here. Much like the Weather reporter had predicted earlier that morning, it had begun to rain. He couldn't even open the window for air.

"Where were you last night, Mulder?" the older man asked, intending to cut the silence. "When you were trying to contact her..."

"I was working late at the office," Mulder replied, his eyes watching the car wiper blades battle the rain.

It went quiet again, except for the sound of the rain beating heavily against the car. Mulder felt sick.

"What time did Agent Scully leave work yesterday?"

_Mulder, I'm leaving early…. I haven't been sleeping well…_

"About 4, she left early."

"Early?"

Mulder nodded, feeling Skinners eyes briefly turn to him for a few moments, before returning to the road.

"She wasn't feeling too great," he explained, "I don't think she's been sleeping properly…"

He continued to look forward through the front window of the car, nervous, concerned, nauseous…overwhelmed was an understatement.

"Mulder if there's anything you're not telling me, I need to know now." Skinner informed him, trying to muffle the blatant frustration in his tone. "I don't want this to escalate to a missing persons case, and neither do you."

"I've told you everything."

"No, you haven't." Skinner replied gruffly, "You should know by now that using one of the bureaus cars to take an investigation into your own hands can result in disciplinary actions-"

"I was responding to a call about further disturbances-"

"Well be that as it may, I am well aware that car has been taken out for many late night 'investigations' outside of hours, Agent Mulder," Skinner snapped, "I may overlook your personal attachment to many of these cases but an Agent is missing-"

"She's **NOT** missing." He blurted out angrily, a little taken aback by his sudden outburst.

Skinner kept his focus on the road - quiet for the moment - yet deeply distracted by the younger man beside him. He could hear the unmistakable quiver in Mulder's voice.

"There will be an explanation, she isn't _missing_, not yet," he continued, this time his voice muffled and strained. "We'll find her."

_If you are hurt, I will never forgive myself…_

Sensing Mulder's grief and distress, Skinner paused for thought, carefully picking his words. He sighed.

"There will be an investigation into this matter from higher up," he warned, warily. "You understand that, right?"

Mulder nodded, moving his gaze to the window on his side. He couldn't bear for anyone to see him right now. "I know…"

Attempting to close off his intruding emotion, he closed his eyes, just to rest. His insides were doing somersaults with every swerve of the car, and he just wished it all away. Out of context, his behaviour would've been of great embarrassment. However, today, Mulder felt numb to all other sensation besides the impulse to find Scully.

A few times during the drive, he was sure Skinner had attempted conversation, or perhaps further interrogation of him. Regardless it had gone unnoticed as he drifted in and out of the sleep he hadn't meant to fall into.

To his embarrassment, he was finally woken by an uncomfortable and slightly sheepish Agent Skinner, shaking his shoulder and confirming they "had arrived".

Skinner got out the car moments later approaching the nearby police, leaving him for just a few moments to sober himself from sleep. The rain continued to fall hard, darkening the morning sky slightly. He forced himself out of the vehicle, immediately wincing as the cold rain hit his skin and clothes, soaking straight through. There were two police cars, and some officers talking to Agent Skinner.

He suddenly noticed the black car on the road side…in a way he had been hoping this would all turn out to be nothing, a mistake...yet one look at the number plate and his heart sank.

He approached the car, scaling the outside. It had clearly been ransacked by the police, searching for clues, evidence…there were documents everywhere inside, aswell as a few personal items scattered, her coat and gloves scattered across the backseat.

"Agent Mulder?"

He turned to face a female police officer standing alongside him. She, much like him, was pretty soaked by the rain.

"Yes?"

"You're Dana Scullys work partner at the Bureau?"

"Yeah I am," Mulder replied nervously. "Did you search this car?"

He felt himself shiver slightly as she shook her head.

"We only traced the number plate back to the Bureau," she explained calmly. "We were waiting for you to get here before we started looking for evidence."

"But the cars been completely-"

"-turned upside down from the inside out." She finished his sentence. "That's why we called you."

Mulder swallowed hard.

"We haven't ruled out any foul play, however there was no evidence of a struggle outside of the vehicle, the door had been shut neatly, there were no drag marks on the ground…"

He nodded, listening and overlooking the words he did not want to hear.

"We have officers scaling the area," she added. "Agent Skinner wants to make this a missing persons case."

Again he nodded, avoiding her eyes. Some police officers from the nearby field approached Agent Skinner and the other officers, rather urgently. Mulder couldn't help but hear.

"Bodies."


	4. Graves

_Chapter Four – Graves _

* * *

The rain continued to fall hard that morning up on Cherry Hill. As they walked through the field, the earth began to slip and slide beneath their feet, submerged in a month's worth of rain. They were headed for the spot where the bodies had been found; approximately 5 or 6 in total, possibly more. It had been hard to tell. Both Agents followed the group of police who led them there, through the fields. Agent Mulder took off ahead with two police officers closely followed next to him, struggling to keep up with him. On the surface he appeared on the brink of instability. In reality he was near frantic.

As they reached the far side of the field, they came to the entrance of the forested area, densely packed with bushes, shrubs and woodland.

"Agent Mulder,"

One of the officers pointed to a trench running closely along the tree line, 10 meters into the darkness of the woodland.

"Watch your step…"

The ground in the woodland was far muddier and sodden than the field. He struggled to keep his balance and watch his feet, the floor a mass of tree roots and rotting leaves, leaving him no option but to hold on to the tightly packed trees as he stumbled across.

It was dark in there. He dreaded the thought that she possibly had run in here to hide, from whoever or whatever had chased her or dragged her from her car…perhaps catching her ankle on a tree root….she wouldn't have gotten far…

Eventually he came to the spot.

"Oh…"

Bodies. Piled up and tightly packed.

He panicked slightly, his feet slipping on the mud almost into the trench itself until he felt strong arms pull him back.

"Careful…"

He felt Agent Skinner's hands tightly grip his shoulders helping him catch his balance, yet remaining there as they stared at the bodies.

The police officers eventually reached them, and Skinner urged himself to let go of the younger agent. Mulder failed to react, unable to remove his eyes from the atrocity at his feet.

"Agent Skinner, we need to get these bodies removed and examined," the female officer spoke again.

It was a grave. The bodies were grey and muddied from the dirt and rain, and mangled.

"Whoever did it was in a rush…they're barely 200 metres from the roadside, they didn't even bury them…"

Skinner paused for a moment, before he attempted to compose himself. He couldn't allow himself to be shocked.

"Ok, I need to have a search party enforced on this entire area," Skinner replied, as calmly as possible. "Have the bodies sent back to the Bureau for an examination and autopsy."

All but one of the officers headed back through the fields to their vehicle, attempting to find signal to make the appropriate calls. The female officer stayed.

"Agent Mulder…"

He ignored her, crouching down as close as he could without slipping into the trench. It was dark enough; muddy enough at least, to find it hard to distinguish any features, age, sex, race and the like.

"Agent Mulder." She tapped him softly on the shoulder.

He turned to her face, and the outstretched hand that held a torch.

"It's dark in here,"

"Thank you..."

He took the torch from her, realising in that moment he had been shaking. Skinner and the female officer stood and watched as he turned on the switch and ran the light over the muddied skin of one of the bodies.

Aside from material that barely distinguished clothing, he took notice of the smaller limbs, longer hair…

"Are they children?"

Mulder shook his head.

"They're female." He replied, bitterly. "All of them."

In that moment he thought he had seen a stroke of red hair, and something inside of him urged him to reach out to touch – only to be pulled back by the strong grasp of Agent Skinner.

"Mulder don't touch the bodies-"

"But what if it's her-"

"They need to be properly examined, and photographed, it's a crime scene.." he snapped back, instantly regretting his cold reaction.

"Then help me look…" Mulder pleaded, embarrassed by the strain in his voice.

Agent Skinner sighed, taking notice that the younger agent was shaking. He found himself feeling for his torch in his coat pocket, before he crouched down next to the other Agent, shining the light on the bodies.

He, much like Agent Mulder, felt his heart racing. The possibility of finding her in a mass grave out here in the forest…he didn't want to think about it. He dreaded it.

"She's not here…."

"How can you be sure-"

One of the police officers from earlier came into view, back from the field.

"They're sending body bags in," the officer told them. "We have to move the bodies."

"But what about disturbing evidence?"

"We haven't got time for that," he replied briskly. "There's a storm on the way, and risk of flooding…"

Agent Skinner stood up from his crouched position.

"Who gave you those orders?"

"The Bureau, they want us to move the bodies now," he insisted. "This woodland is a floodplain."


	5. Whitewash

_Chapter Five – Whitewash_

* * *

She wondered how long she would lay there in the wet and the cold as it began to rain, her body too tired and weak to move. She tried to remember what had happened to her last night, if anything believing perhaps it would help her, but it was all a blank. Much to her fears, she concluded to herself that she must be suffering from concussion. She even speculated that she might die there, questioning whether who or when someone would find her, days, weeks, months later. She wondered where Mulder was, and if he had been looking for her at all. Eventually however, someone, or at least something, did find her there. She had been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while, shivering and soaked through to the skin, when she felt her body roused by unfamiliar touches that felt like hands. In her paranoia and vulnerability she concerned herself that it would be an animal, and in that moment she opened her drowsy eyes to the face of a man.

He said nothing, staring back at her for just a few moments, crouched down at her side with his hand checking the pulse on her neck. She laid there watching him with confusion, until she felt his hand run down to her chest and into the opening of her shirt.

"Don't-"

She grabbed his wrist in horror, only to find his large hand grip her throat. She struggled momentarily, weakened by her frail body. His eyes stared back.

"You shouldn't be here."

She stared up at him, repulsed and fearing for her life as she felt him hold her still.

"Please-"

"Why did you come here?"

His eyes were leering down at her, cold and dark. She stared right back at him, studying his face properly for the first time when she realised he was a middle aged male.

"Have you been watchin' me?" he asked her, his voice low and quiet. "And the others?"

She shook her head slightly, her neck still tight in his grasp.

"No…"

"You sure 'bout that?" he questioned, his face closer to hers now.

"I don't know who you are-"

"You're on my property," he explained coldly, "This is my land."

She swallowed, her throat tightened under his hand.

"I don't want no FBI here. I don't want any of you watchin' me." He told her, his stare burning holes into her eyes. "And I know you been watchin' me."

"Please, just help me," she whispered, her voice breaking under his grip and her strong nerves. "I'm hurt…"

"What have you seen? Up here and round these parts, huh?" he ignored her. "You seen those lights? Is that what you're here for?"

"I haven't seen anything-"

"You better see nothin' round here. Nothin' for any of you to see."

"Michael!"

She felt his grip on her loosen, his line of sight following over his shoulder. In the corner of her vision, she noticed another blurred but distinctly male figure. He was holding a gun.

"Is that her?"

Michael nodded.

"I found her."

He stood up from her side, approaching the other male with the gun.

"I found her weapon."

"Destroy it."

"We need to get her out of here, the cops are in the forest, they found her car," the other voice explained, urgently. "They'll find the bodies."

Michael paused for a moment, turning to look over his shoulder at her.

"We need to get rid of her." He muttered. "Whitewash her."

####

Agent Mulder arrived home that night at quarter to midnight. It was usual for him to be late back to his apartment, usually staying late at the office to continue his work, but tonight he'd been called back to the bureau to hold an emergency meeting with Agent Skinner and his superiors. There had been talk of his suspension from the FBI, a temporary one at that, but it had come to no conclusion. Not that he had cared.

He had been told his actions were irresponsible, unprofessional_, selfish…_he had endangered the lives of others. He was made to feel responsible.

_I already feel responsible, sir…_

Agent Scully was officially a missing persons case, however to some extent of relief, the bodies had been identified and none had been her. Her apartment was currently being searched. He had given a statement, and both his and Scullys phone calls were being traced. Her last phone call had been traced to her apartment.

He threw his jacket on the couch, followed by removing his tie and throwing it in the same manner. He proceeded to turn on the TV, attempting to calm his nerves and pretend for just five minutes that this was a normal evening, that everything was _just fine_.

For just a few moments he realised how hungry he was, his stomach empty, but he dared not to fill it for fear of reawakening his nausea. He decided to pass on a night of being slumped over a toilet seat vomiting for hours. In some ways if he hadn't felt so weak he was more than sure he would've smashed something in sheer frustration at himself.

He settled down on the couch, sinking in to the soft material and wishing sleep would overcome him. More than anything he wished it was all a dream, hoped with all his might that everything would go back to normal when he awoke. But in other aspects, he dreaded sleep and the nightmares that would potentially come, and then follow him into reality in the morning.

According to Skinner and the rest of his superiors, he had been assigned to work with a new agent, for the time being, an Agent Beckett whom he had never met or even heard of. The X Files was being temporarily suspended until Agent Scully returned. _If she ever did return of course._ He was being moved to a different unit altogether, possibly back to the Violent Crimes Section, which he assumed was where he would be teamed up with 'Agent Beckett'.

Not that he cared particularly. His job was the least of his concerns when he knew she was missing because of _his _mistakes. It had only been a mere six months since she had recovered from her cancer. She wasn't as strong as she had been before; he knew she was still a little fragile, even if she wouldn't admit it. He was well aware she hadn't been sleeping properly the last few months. _If anything had happened to her…_he didn't want to think about it.

He lay back on the couch pulling the folded blanket he kept there around his shoulders, shivering slightly in the cold air of his apartment.

He couldn't stop thinking.


	6. Starting Over

_Chapter Six – Starting Over_

* * *

He walked through the flooded fields, not minding that his ankles were deep in ice cold, muddied water. He couldn't feel the cold. For some reason beyond his control, his body had blocked out all feelings. He knew exactly where he was going. He followed his line of sight, almost trance like, to the group of men, all in black uniform that he recognised standing in the distance. He didn't want to go over to them, he didn't want to see what they had gathered around, because he knew exactly what they'd found. He felt numb, inside and out.

They had seen him approaching, and one by one began to turn and stare at him. Their faces were void of emotion. As he got close to them he felt their stares on him, burning right through his skin. He knew what was happening, what _had_ happened, what they had found.

He saw.

An alarm resounded.

Agent Mulder woke up in his apartment curled up under the blanket on his couch. He pulled the material away from his face, realising it had almost been smothering him. His skin was covered in a layer of cold sweat.

The striking contrast of white skin and red hair haunted his vision. Her eyes had been open, staring up at him, cold and lifeless.

It sickened him to the very core.

It took him a few moments to realise how irritated he had become by the alarm ringing persistently in the background. He proceeded to switch it off, realising it was 6.45am. In that moment he felt the wooden floor shift beneath his feet as he stood up from the couch, along with nausea that had been bothering him since yesterday morning. He rushed to the bathroom and was immediately sick as soon as his knees crumpled down at the base of the toilet. There was nothing in his stomach _at all_ having not eaten for 48 hours; he heaved until his stomach muscles eventually calmed, unwillingly. He felt disgusted at himself.

He spent a long time in the shower, attempting to warm up and somehow relax. It was near impossible. He couldn't stop thinking.

It took all of his strength that morning to find the will to get up and go to work. Two coffees and the ice cold rain outside managed to snap him out of the trance-like state he'd been in since the alarm had gone off. He had barely slept. It was only morning, and the day already felt like a _nightmare_.

Agent Skinner had called and left a message on his answer phone, to check he was ok perhaps or at least that he hadn't done anything _stupid_, before promptly reminding him to go straight to his office. He dreaded it.

When he finally got there, he took the elevator up to the 11th floor and made his way through the corridors, causally ignoring the obvious stares from other Agents and staff. Eventually when he got to Agent Skinner's office, he was told to wait on the sofa outside, as prompted by his assistant, that his superior was taking a phone call.

_Superior. _He _hated_ that word.

Mulder sat down next to another agent, a younger female he had not seen before. Her suit jacket covered her name badge.

"Always on the phone."

Not expecting her to have spoken, he turned his head round to look at her properly.

"Superiors…" she added, mockingly.

He felt himself smirk, unwillingly.

"Yeah,"

She kept her cool, slightly serious complexion, making brief eye contact with him before smiling. It took him a moment to look at her properly and in doing so he realised she was quite pretty.

"Can't complain I guess," she spoke again, sighing slightly with a smile still. "I must've done something real bad to get called up here like this."

He couldn't help but sigh himself, with her that is.

"Well I guess that makes two of us."

She turned to look at him again, pushing her wavy dark hair out of her face, intrigued.

"Oh?"

Mulder nodded, looking away slightly.

"I can't imagine it'll turn out too bad, whatever it is," she replied comfortingly. "We're still employed right?"

She smiled at him again, this time a little more sympathetically. He wondered what she had done wrong, like him, to end up here in Agent Skinners waiting room.

Suddenly the door opened, and Skinner stood there staring at both of them.

"Come in."

They both momentarily paused.

"Who?"

"Both of you."

A little confused but nonetheless downright nervous, they both got up from the sofa and made their way into the office; he still couldn't catch sight of her name badge under the front of her jacket. They both took a seat opposite the desk, and waited for Skinner to shut the door and sit down in front.

"Agents I'm making this meeting an opportunity to introduce you to each other," he explained, particularly making eye contact with Mulder. "I briefly spoke with Agent Mulder about this yesterday afternoon during an emergency meeting regarding unfortunate circumstances, but he will be working in the Violent Crimes Department as of today."

He paused momentarily, turning his full attention to Mulder.

"You will be working with Agent Beckett as of today," he continued. "Is everything clear?"

"Yes, sir," the female voice beside him replied.

Mulder simply nodded.

They were not in there for much longer. Skinner dismissed them, after briefly discussing the update on the search, particularly in Scullys apartment. No clues. Just search parties.

As they shut the door behind them and left the waiting area, ignoring once more the obvious stares from his assistant and other passing agents, she turned to him.

"Nice to meet you,"

Mulder nodded.

"You too."

She nodded awkwardly, perhaps embarrassed, or pondering the circumstances of their partnership. As they walked down the corridor past the few Agents who turned and looked at him, she couldn't help but notice his nervous stature. It made her feel uneasy.

"So you used to work in this department before? Violent Crimes?"

"Yeah. A long time ago."

She nodded, and he followed her down the corridor to the elevator.

"So Agent Beckett, how long have you been working in Violent Crimes?" he asked nervously, attempting to clear the tension.

"'Agent Beckett'?" she scoffed slightly. "Ahh Skinner didn't even tell you my name did he?"

"Sorry,"

"Don't worry," she replied, smiling. "I think Sarah sounds a little less dramatic,"

He nodded again, watching her press the button for the elevator.

"And how about you?" Sarah asked, studying his badge on his shirt. "Am I supposed to call you 'Agent Mulder'?"

"I guess that's debateable," he replied sheepishly. "Either that, or you can call me Fox."

She met his eyes, a little awkwardly.

"Fox?"

"Yeah," he replied. "It's not a nickname,"

She nodded, smiling at him in amusement.

"Well I guess _Fox_ we can go straight to Violent Crimes, but I'm guessing you're not exactly having the greatest day," she explained, as the elevator door opened. "Maybe we could cut the tension and get to know each other over a drink?"

"That sounds great, but I'm not much of a drinker," he replied awkwardly smiling.

"Neither am I, but I'm having a pretty awful day already," she added, "So you up for it?"


	7. The Sacrament

_Chapter Seven – The Sacrament_

* * *

He watched the smoke billowing out from under the shadow of his creased face, swirling around like a dark cloud. It was almost suiting for the man's personality.

Agent Skinner sat back further into his chair; his eyes focused now on the case report on his desk in front of him. He'd received an untraceable call earlier that day, ordering him to be in his office for a private meeting strictly at 11pm, long after everyone else had left the building. He didn't need to trace the call however to know who the caller was. The office door was locked, the blinds were shut, and the lights were dimmed, as asked. He knew best to do as he was told.

"You did well getting Agent Beckett to assist in this little scenario…"

"I did as I was _asked_,"

"Of course…" The cigarette-smoking man took a long drag of his cigarette, before continuing. "And she understands the state of affairs and her _personal _assignment?"

"Yes."

"That's good…." He replied, watching the younger man carefully. "Mulder is not to be involved with Cherry Hill,"

Agent Skinner sighed, sinking back into his leather chair. He felt his skin heat up with pure nerves and anxiety at the mere presence of this man.

"I assigned them to that case following violent disturbances," Skinner replied hastily, avoiding his stare. "It's my job to direct the investigation of these crimes-"

"Cherry Hill is already under investigation," he interrupted abruptly. "It is a matter neither you, Mulder nor Scully are to be involved in."

Skinner remained quiet for the moment. He felt a wave of smoke hit him as the Cigarette-smoking man now stood opposite him, almost _over him,_ at the desk. His eyes were intent on the Cherry Hill documents.

"Secrets aside, an Agent is _missing_, Agent Scully..." he insisted, rather desperately.

"Yes, she is." The Cigarette-smoking man replied briefly, stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray.

Skinner watched as he casually reached for the pack of Morleys from his coat pocket, lighting up another cigarette. It infuriated him.

"There are some very violent men in Cherry Hill," The Cigarette-smoking man informed him, nonchalantly. "I read the case report."

"Agent Scully needs to be found," Skinner replied, despairing at his lack of care. "Sooner rather than later…"

The man nodded, his face showing little emotion as he took another long drag of his cigarette. He reached forward and took the case briefing from Skinner's desk, shuffling through the notes and evidence, photographs of the scene, the bodies…._everything he already knew about, of course._

"I'm assuming you found the bodies? With Agent Mulder?" he asked, studying the autopsy photos in one hand as he held his cigarette in the other.

"Yes, they were all female…"

Once more the older man nodded.

"Autopsy reported back strong indication of strangulation, heavy blood loss and puncture wounds to the vital arteries at the neck and wrists…"Skinner confirmed uncomfortably. "In other words they bled to death."

"Well in any case, I'm sure we will find the culprit." He said, the corners of his thin lips forming the trace of a smirk.

He waited for a reaction from the Assistant Director, and was not surprised when he didn't receive one.

"I will be confiscating this and I will be taking sole responsibility for any further inquests, you are to direct anything straight to me," The Cigarette-smoking man announced, holding tightly onto the documents. "We wouldn't want any more Agents to go missing now, would we?"

Agent Skinner felt his heart lurch violently in his chest with utter disgust at the one man he truly hated.

"Get out."

The Cigarette-Smoking man smiled.

"I'll be in touch."

#

#

"_We need to get rid of her. Whitewash her. We can't let her remember."_

She felt his hands on her again, this time followed by a second pair. It took her a few moments to react to their actions, watching drowsily as they pulled her up onto her feet. She struggled to stand at first, leaning against her will on to the man she believed to be called 'Michael' to stop herself falling back to the ground. He yanked her up by her arm, gripping tightly in case she made a run for it. She felt that the men were frightened, but she couldn't understand why.

"We need to get rid of her, like the rest."

Scully felt the other man let go of her. She struggled to hold her head up, the ache she had felt now stronger than ever, until she felt the cold metal end of a gun lodged against the side of her head.

"No - someone'll hear the gunshot. They'll know."

"You have fists don't you? Don't need a gun."

She felt the gun press harder against her skin, taunting her.

"We can't, they'll find her body like they found the others-"

After what felt like a lifetime, the gun was pushed from her.

"Well fuck it we need to get away from here." The other man insisted. "The cops are not far behind."

"Where are they?" Michael asked frantically.

"They were on the road," he replied, "It won't take them long to find us. We need to get to the warehouse and deal with her."

The two men began to walk quickly through the flooded field, pulling her along. Scully struggled to stand, let alone keep up with their fast pace dash to get away from the onset of police; she could more than sense their frustration, and it didn't take much for her to stumble. She felt Michael's rough hand grab her by the arm in an attempt to hold her steady before she fell.

"Stand up."

"I can't…"

She felt the strong grip of his hand move from her arm to the back of her head, pulling her hair and forcing her to face him, up close. In that moment she realised how his face was scarred and marked.

"Do as I say." He whispered to her, their faces so close she could feel his hot panicky breath against her skin.

He frightened her, intensely. His eyes seemed darker and colder than they had previously, staring into hers with nothing more than animalistic hatred; they didn't seem human.

"What's the matter with her?"

"Look at her neck…"

She felt one of the men tilt her aching head to the side carelessly. She didn't care for what it was they were looking at.

"One of the others must have had her, and brought her down," the voice said, presumably Michael, before attempting to pull her up roughly to her feet.

"Please, you're hurting me…"

He didn't hesitate to hit her backhandedly across the face, intending to scare her into submission.

"_Do as I say_." He repeated again, more urgently, letting go of his grip on her.

She felt her knees buckle without his help, and grabbed unwilling on to him. He once again grabbed her roughly by the arm, yanking her weak body to her feet. His grip felt more than tight enough to bruise.

"Don't provoke me.…"

Once more she tasted the metallic onset of blood in her mouth, dizzied by the blow to her face, but obediently following his order.

"Move.."

She did as she was told and put one foot in front of the other.

The field was muddied and wet, and she felt her scuffed heels sinking into the mud every time she put her weight on them. The other man was leading them both further away, across the field, closer to the forest. It didn't take them long to reach a clearing, with what looked like a barn or a warehouse of some kind. There were several old cars parked outside. The door to the warehouse was distinctly crimson coloured and old looking. For some reason beyond her knowledge, the colour stood out to her.

They eventually came to a stop, and by now Scully felt her heart racing. She held on tightly to Michael, even after he had let go of her, for fear of falling down again. She was exhausted. She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy and nauseous once more. It was hard to stay conscious and awake, impossible to listen to what was going on around her; her head was pounding. There were panicked discussions.

"Take her inside."


	8. The Finding

_Chapter Eight – The Finding_

* * *

_Heavy rains are expected to continue falling throughout the week, strengthening as the tail end of Hurricane Georges is expected to hit the area. This newest front has prompted the national meteorological agency to post flood watches for most of the East Coast area and advise the public to avoid travel whenever possible -_

"What a bunch of bull shit."

With a vicious stab of his thumb, Mulder hit the scan button on the radio and settled back into his seat, his nerves apparently soothed if only in the slightest, by silencing the chirping voice.

"Time to go back…?" Sarah asked, not taking her eyes from the wet pavement ahead.

"No." he replied bluntly, shifting uncomfortably in the driver's seat, "Not yet, anyway,"  
Barring a traffic backup, they would, in another fifteen minutes, be pulling into the police parking garage and ready to spend yet another day chasing dead ends on a case. Except for the trace evidence that Agent Beckett had been briefed on the night before, they were desperately short of clues.

The night before of course they were supposed to meet a witness, but even if the man had witnessed something relevant to the crime, he failed to show up. Inevitably, thoughts of the meeting that should have taken place pulled the image of his missing partner back from the corner of his brain he shoved it to earlier that morning and into the forefront. He couldn't help but think about who was potentially investigating her disappearance, and if there were any witnesses _at all_. Regardless, and much to his horror, he had been banned from the investigation by someone whom he believed had directed Agent Skinner to do so. Mulder believed he knew exactly who, however he had failed in his attempt to find the man responsible several times - by the time he had got there he would be gone, leaving behind no trace of his presence but a few burnt out cigarette butts in the ashtray.

They continued to drive slowly through the flooded roads, the storm approaching leaving the late afternoon city sky in darkness. The wiper blades were struggling to clear the front screen of rain as it fell fast and heavy.

"Fox,"

"What?"

Agent Beckett noted her partner's shaky behaviour and unstable temperament, more often than not in the four weeks she had been working with him. Today didn't seem to be any different.

"Turn the car around."

She heard him sigh.

"Did you hear what I said?"

Mulder pulled over at the sidewalk reluctantly.

"Don't you feel like going to work today?" he retorted cynically.

"Not at the cost of _safety_…." Sarah replied, instantly regretting her choice of words. "You have eyes don't you? The roads are flooded…"

Much to her luck it seemed to go unnoticed, or at least Mulder was hiding his feelings well as he proceeded to turn the car around. He knew she was right.

The drive back to the Bureau was silent and uncomfortable, except for the sounds of the heavy rain being fought away by the wiper blades, alongside the spray of the water on the road beneath the tires. It had been constant rain for as long as the autumn had been around.

After the even longer journey back to the building, they parked the car, and made their way back to their office, or at least _her office _in which he half-heartedly shared. Except that today, there was something waiting for Agent Mulder on the desk.

Both agents stood round the neatly composed desk, free of clutter and full of space, their speculative gazes all gathered on the same point. For some reason it stood out.

It was nothing more suspicious than a small manila mailing envelope, however with a dark brown thumb print in the upper right hand corner where the postage stamp ought to be. It wasn't the print that drew Mulder's gaze though. Instead his eyes were focused on the neatly printed text on the envelope's front, which read simply: _D.S._  
Sarah went to reach for the envelope, only to find Agent Mulder got there first.

"Was this here earlier before you left this morning?"

She shook her head.

"Give it to me."

"Wait." He replied briefly, before he headed out the front of the office with it.

"Fox-"

She followed him out of the door nervously, watching him approach the secretary's desk in their department.  
"Marie?" He approached the secretary's desk, letter held bolding in his hand.

"Yes, Agent Mulder?"

"When did this arrive?" He put the envelope down on her desk.

"I'm sorry?"

"The envelope that was on my desk, _Agent Beckett's desk_... _The one with no return address or postage._When did it arrive and how?"

The woman shook her head, her thick eyebrows bunching together in puzzlement. "Nothing has come in for you Agent Mulder. Not since the mail yesterday."

"There wasn't a courier?"

"No… nothing," Marie paused, tapping the butt of her ever present ball point pen against her chin as she thought. "-and I'm sure all your mail was put out yesterday when it arrived. Perhaps one of the other Agents left it?"

Wordlessly, Mulder turned his gaze back to the envelope, his expression hardening.

"Would you like me to make some enquiries?" she asked, noticing his expression.

He took the envelope back from her desk.

"No, that's fine,"

He looked up to see Agent Beckett standing anxiously in the door way of their office.

"Well?" she asked uneasily.

He approached her.

"This is addressed to my partner," he replied, dropping his voice to a whisper. A small group of Agents had just emerged into the department area and were already spreading out among their desks and offices. He didn't want to make a scene, however he noted that Agent Beckett remained stood in the doorway to the office.

"Me."

"No, _Agent Scully_,"

She met his eyes uncomfortably, noticing how his face had become pale.  
_"Well I guess you better just open the damn thing,"_ she replied abruptly and callously, noticing the eyes of the secretary and the other Agents she knew well in the department turning and looking at them curiously.

Sarah stepped aside and hushed him into the office, shutting the door behind them. She pulled a pair of gloves from her jacket pocket and passed them to him.

Without pausing to think on it any further, he took the gloves from her and slid them expertly on, snugging them up around his wrists. Gingerly he grasped the edge of the small envelope, turned it over, found that the back was blank.

Grabbing a letter opener from his desk, he stabbed it into the end opposite the folded lip and sliced it open in one smooth motion. The envelope was light in his hands, so light that it almost seemed to be empty.

Carefully, he turned it over and gave it a shake-

_Nothing._

He shook again, harder this time and something small and very light slid out onto the desk, making only the barest sound as it hit the stacks of papers.

Once again, all eyes were staring down on the desk – it was just a black micro memory card.

"What the hell…"

"My computer doesn't read those," Sarah replied simply and bluntly in response to his hissed profanity.

Briskly and ignoring her, he reached out and grabbed the tiny memory card in his gloved fingers, bringing it up into clear view.

"Not a problem," he explained calmly, "I know some guys who can open this,"

##

"It's nothing more than a micro SD card,"

"Lucky for you, we and most other people have a converter."

Agent Mulder murmured a quick thank you and hurriedly sank into his chair, watching as Langly slid the small card into the larger as he did so and clicking both into place in the computer's card slot.

There was a brief moment of silent stases as the computer thought and then, a new window opened and the contents of the card appeared on screen.

Frohike standing next to Langly stared over his shoulder at the screen.

"Well what is it?" Mulder asked nervously, as the three men turned to look at him.

"They're just blurry jpeg files,"

Mulder stood up from the chair once again to look closer at the screen. They were right. The folder did indeed contain dozens of jpeg files, _all of which _were grainy and slightly out of focus, hinting at photos taken with a cheap camera phone.

He quickly scrolled through the files, scanning the many images for her, anything he could relate to her in the slightest. _It was nothing more than photos of an old warehouse and its contents._

"Her initials," said Byers suddenly, stretching out a hand and poking the screen.

It was another folder he and the others had overlooked, buried amongst the blurred jpegs. The rest of the files in the folder had auto generated names, but this one, as Byers had pointed out, was titled "D.S."

He opened the folder. This time, more photos, but less blurred and more professional. It looked like evidence. There were photos of the forest in which they'd found the bodies, more bodies he had not seen before, puncture wounds to the neck and wrists… He felt his stomach churn in horror as he forced himself to look through the rest of the images, before he immediately recognised a photo of a gun, smashed and shattered through the middle on a grass covered floor.

"That's _hers_,"

"Are you sure?"

He swallowed hard.

"Yes,"

Frohike took the computer mouse from Mulder temporarily to right click the image, pulling up the picture properties: it stated clearly the image had been taken 4 weeks ago; the day after Scully had disappeared.  
"This is a message," Byers whispered, his voice distinctly strained, "whoever sent this, is trying to draw your attention to this place."  
"Its Cherry Hill." Mulder replied, "This is where she disappeared; I'm banned from the investigation and any involvement,"

"We'll come with you."

"No," Mulder sat back down in his chair with a sigh. "Absolutely not."

Frohike set down his coffee cup, his face wearing a mirroring expression. "Why the hell not?"

"Because," he replied, his tone hinting the frustration he felt, "My partner…"

"Agent Beckett?"

"I barely know her, they reassigned me to work with her without my say," Mulder explained, "I don't even know if I can trust her,"

Byers holding the envelope, suddenly spoke.

"Did you say this was delivered to your office?"

"Yes, it was waiting on the desk,"

"Agent Beckett's desk?"

Mulder nodded. He watched as Byers thought carefully for a moment.

"Well, seeing as it's not clearly addressed, how can you be so sure this envelope was meant for you, and not for Agent Beckett?"

##

The door was locked.  
She picked up the phone and dialled the number she had been instructed to use. It only had to ring once, until she heard someone answer. They already knew it would be her.

"Is this line secure?"

"Yes, it is…" she replied, cautiously. "We have a serious problem that needs to be dealt with,"

"And what is that in regards to?"

"The mail that was left on my desk this morning," she explained. "Agent Mulder has it."


	9. Shelter from the Storm

_Chapter Nine –Shelter from the Storm_

* * *

"Well, seeing as it's not clearly addressed, how can you be so sure this envelope was meant for you, and not for Agent Beckett?"

Mulder paused.

"I think Skinner left it for me."

"Your assistant director?"

"Yes," he replied, "You said yourself, this was left as a message, whoever left it there wanted me to see it…"

He paused again, momentarily.

"Skinner knows how I feel about this, and Scully,"

Byers nodded.

"Well, that aside, I'm sure we can run an analysis on that blatant fingerprint on the envelope," he explained, in an assuring tone. "We'll find out who it belongs to."

##

Mulder sat in his car outside in the rain, an hour after he left the envelope behind with the Lone Gunmen. He didn't exactly feel like returning to work, _not that he ever did lately_. He had phoned Sarah to explain his findings, however she never picked up, and he kept getting put through to answer phone. He didn't feel it was appropriate to leave the details of today on a voicemail. He had no idea who was watching them both, or at least _him_. He had no idea if he could even trust Sarah. He was concerned with what Byers had pointed out about her, and the potentiality of the letter being sent to her instead of him, but he quickly reassured himself of the reality that she didn't even know Scully or him for that matter, before he was reassigned. She wasn't even an Assistant Director or anything high enough to investigate such an important case. Skinner had assured him the case was being investigated by himself, and by his own superiors. There were people out there looking for Scully, just not Agent Beckett, and certainly _not him._

Mulder started the engine, and began to drive slowly through the darkness and the rain, hoping he'd make it back to the office or at least _home_ in one piece. Even in the middle of the town, there was no one around, not a single person nor car in the street. He was far from surprised. He felt the wind very gently rock the car slightly as he drove slowly through the roads, making him nervous. If anything it made him wonder if the phone lines were down, and perhaps had been the reason he hadn't managed to get in touch with Sarah. The storm was getting worse, and he couldn't help but speculate if it was such a good idea to have gone out in it.

He drove along the normally busy road, past the tall buildings and apartment blocks that lined it, the lights faintly shining through the haze of the rain; it was his usual route to go home, a route that went past Scully's apartment building. As he drove past like he did every day he noticed something, in that split second he glanced at her apartment, which caught his eye.

He slammed on his breaks momentarily, skidding hard on the flooded surface of the road, as he took a longer moment to look. There was a light on in her apartment.

In a spur of the moment he pulled up at the sidewalk amongst the other parked cars, and turned off the engine. Mulder felt his heart racing slightly in his chest as he stared up at the window he had looked out of many times. He decided he was not imaging it; there was definitely a light on in there.

_Could it be part of the investigation? The Police or FBI? Or even her mother_? Calling Skinner to ask was out of the question, and he dared not call her distraught mother. He pondered the thought of who could be up there. The weather was too severe; surely no one would go there in this storm?

Mulder opened the car door, surprised as the wind pulled it away from his hands and swung it open. He got out and proceeded to shut it quietly in an attempt not to draw attention to himself, running quickly through the pounding rain to the entrance of the apartment. The rain seeped through his work clothes, cold enough to make him shiver in those few moments he was outside. He remembered the code to the apartment door, and let himself in out of the rain. Once inside he tried not to remind himself that he'd be in serious trouble if anyone at the FBI were to discover he'd come to her apartment – it had officially become part of the investigation since her disappearance.

Apart from the storm outside, the apartment block was eerily silent and dimly lit. He felt for the spare keys to her apartment in his coat pocket as he made his way quietly and stealthily up the flight of stairs to her floor, before reaching for his gun. He dreaded the thought that burglars had somehow cottoned on to the fact that her apartment was empty and perfect for looting….he didn't want to use his gun, not unless he had to.

Eventually he came to her door, and pressed his ear against it, and simply listened. There was nothing except the uncanny silence of her apartment. Holding his breath nervously, he slot the key in the lock and opened the door. He pushed it open slowly and slightly uneasily, before letting himself in and shutting it behind him. Indeed there was a light on, a small one that lit up the darkness of the room. It was a table lamp that Scully kept on her tableside next to the sofa in her living room. Realising how soaked from the rain he was, Mulder couldn't help but guiltily remove his wet shoes at the door before making his way into the living room, still holding his weapon. He let his guard down when he noticed the place was tidy, how Scully liked it, even though the apartment had suffered a grilling search from the investigation team in recent weeks.

He could smell her familiar perfume in the air. It comforted him momentarily, until he noticed wet footsteps on the wooden floor that certainly did not belong to him. He paused for a split second to think, pondering if he had simply imagined he'd removed his shoes at the door, but _no, his feet were bare besides black socks_, and in that vulnerable moment that he looked down at his feet, he felt something hard and metal strike the side of his head.

In agony he stumbled sideways before losing his balance, crumpling down to the wooden floor on his knees in shock. He heard the sound of his gun hit the hard floor and scatter away from his reach. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to control the pain, holding himself up by his hands as he felt himself tempted to lie down. Hearing footsteps behind him he opened his eyes to a spinning reality, the world gyrating rapidly around him. He felt something trickle down the side of his head, and touched it gently. It was blood. He attempted to move himself from the crumpled stance he had fallen to on the wooden floor of Scully's apartment, trying to reach his weapon, only to be struck again from behind across his back. He cried out in fear, struggling to breathe momentarily as he became winded by the hit, before being struck again in his attempt to crawl away.

"Stop it!" he gasped out as he turned to face his attacker, shielding himself as he prepared for another blow.

The blow never came. He opened his eyes, irritated by blood that trickled into his open eye. He wiped it away, attempting to see his attacker clearly as they stood there, just a few feet away.

"Scully…"


	10. Reunion

_Chapter Ten – Reunion_

* * *

She was breathing heavily, ruggedly almost, as if she had used all the strength left inside of her to beat the life out of him. Her eyes were on him, cold, empty and irate, as she dropped the metal crowbar she held in her hand with a clunk to the wooden floor. Her hair appeared darker at first, until Mulder realised she was soaking wet, _presumably from the storm outside_…as he looked at her he realised then that her feet were completely bare, cut up and bloodied.

"Scully…"

She didn't reply. Despite the pain he felt and the blood trickling down his face, Mulder attempted to stand up from the arrangement she had beaten him to on the floor. He failed on his first attempt, the floor shifting beneath him as his head pounded furiously. He gasped in pain, trying desperately to stay in an upright position. If he lay down he was certain he would never find the strength to get up again.

"I'm sorry."

He was unable to see her, squeezing his eyes shut in pain as he cupped the bleeding wound on the side of his head. However he felt comforted by the sound of her voice, having not heard it at all in over a month and in some ways having believed he would never hear it again.

"Scully," he called out her name blindly, hoping she would come help him. But she never did.

He opened his eyes. To his dismay she began to back away towards the front door.

"No-" he cried out, more aggressively than he had meant to. He didn't want her to leave.

He forced himself up off the floor, staggering through the pain and weakness he felt. He tried to ignore his weapon that was casually strewn on the floor between them, aswell as the metal crowbar she had attacked him with. The last thing he wanted to do right now was frighten her. He held on to the side of the couch that was nearby as he pulled himself up quickly, before moving closer to her with one hand on the wall to balance himself; he was unable to take his now fully open eyes off her.

"Where have you been?" he asked nervously, one hand clutching the bleeding wound on the side of his head.

He felt impending unconsciousness attempting to drag him under, tempting him, but he fought it. He daren't black out. _Not now_.

"_What happened to you, Dana_?"

She backed herself into the wall behind her as he reduced the few steps between them and approached her. She flinched as he reached for her gently at first, not expecting her to push him away quite so forcefully. In that moment she was free of his momentary grip on her, she attempted to reach for the front door that was just inches away.

"Scully-" This time he grabbed her forcefully, harder than had he wanted to but terrified of losing her again.

She struggled under the grip of his bloodied hands, panicking as he held her by the arms tightly, leaving him little choice but to back up her against the wall in an attempt to restrain her.

"**No**-"

"Keep still-"

She felt overcome by the urge to free herself, and in response to this unknown reaction bottling up inside her she lashed out. It was hard to think, hard to think logically that is, when suppressed memories of what had happened to her surfaced momentarily. She could not remember the exact details, nor the faces or locations behind her memories – only sheer emotions and a gut feeling that something terrible had happened to her.

She felt as if she could scream and cry at the same time – at least she wanted to, anything to unleash how she felt inside - but neither came out. Except for the sounds of her ragged breathing, and his, she was silent.

He attempted to grab her by the wrists as she attempted to strike him and push him away, but it was a struggle brought on by the head injury he was already suffering.

In sheer frustration he slammed her hard against the wall.

"Stop it!"

She let out a startled gasp, her eyes clenching shut in pain as the wall behind her connected with her head. Slowly, she forced her eyes open to regard the man before her, silently cursing the way her eyes were watering from the sudden blow. As her vision focused though, any thoughts of pain disappeared from her mind.

Mulder was staring down at her with cold disregard; his own eyes an icy mask. He tried to ignore the distressed look in her face and her glistening eyes staring back at him, hoping she wouldn't cry.

"Don't touch me-"

She couldn't bear to meet his eyes, staring over his shoulder instead. She knew they were watching her, and Mulder. She daren't look them in the face as they watched. They terrified her.

"I don't want you to touch me…"

Mulder's hands gripped tighter around her skin. He swallowed uneasily, listening to the sounds of their heavy breathing now that she was still.

"Why..?" he asked her, feeling her tremble beneath his grip.

She didn't answer. He attempted to catch her gaze, but struggled. She was too busy looking over his shoulder.

"Scully…" he repeatedly called out to her, trying to capture her attention.

He shook her gently as she stared at the wall behind him, only to find she remained unresponsive in a trance. There was a creak on the floorboards behind them - her eyes widened momentarily in fear, and in response Mulder turned round to where she had been staring.

There was nothing but thin air.

In that moment that he turned back to face her, he felt her weaken against him.

She felt limp in his arms, shivering and cold to touch. He let go of his grasp on her arms, instantly feeling guilty for restraining her at all. The blood from his hands stained her clothing where he had gripped her so tightly.

"Scully you're freezing…"

Against her wishes he pulled her close against him, wrapping her shivering frame tightly in his arms. He panicked slightly as he felt her head droop lifelessly onto his chest.

She said nothing. Her knees seemed to buckle right beneath her. Mulder held onto her tightly so that she wouldn't fall, relieved he had found her, but terrified at the same time. He stroked her wet hair, attempting to comfort her, trying to convince himself this was real, _she was real_.

"I'm afraid…"

As he gently stroked her hair, he moved a wet strand of hair away from her face as it stuck to her skin, gently brushing past her neck as he did so. She winced.

He looked down at her, suddenly aware of the bruising on her exposed neck, leading down over her shoulder beneath her clothing. Turning his stare to her face, he noticed once more her gaze was over his shoulder. He lifted her chin so their eyes would meet, and opened his mouth to speak, when he caught sight of a dark figure looming behind him in the reflection of her eyes.

Losing his nerve, he turned round abruptly.

"Mulder don't-"

He stared at the wall behind them. He felt her grab his arm tightly.

"Is there someone else here?"

Her eyes darted furiously over the wall, where she had been staring so vigorously.

"I just want to leave…" she whispered, her voice trembling in a struggle to contain her fear. "Please, Mulder…"


	11. Second Casualty

_Chapter Eleven – Second Casualty_

* * *

He ignored her for the moment, staring intently at the space of the apartment. He took the few steps towards where he had dropped his gun and reached for it, struggling slightly as his head injury left his head spinning.

After a few attempts to steady his vision and ignore the throbbing ache, he picked up his weapon and stood up from the floor. He felt more than just a little injured, but he had to be sure they were alone. If he found someone in her apartment, someone responsible for what had happened to her, he certainly wasn't going to let them get away with it, not for all he had suffered and endured in these four weeks_ - he had plans to beat the living shit out of them to within an inch of their life._

"Mulder…"

He turned to face her, meeting her unreadable stare. He simply held her gaze for just a few moments longer than he had meant to, confused and concerned by the look in her eyes.

"Stay here."

She shook her head.

"Scully-"

"Please…" she pleaded, her voice shaking. "I just want to leave…"

"Scully there are FBI all over looking for you," he reminded her, losing his patience. "You're officially missing-"

"**I don't care**-"

He felt a slight hurtful pang in his chest at her words, and couldn't help but sigh with frustration. Ignoring the dizziness he felt with movement, he reached for the crowbar she had attacked him with and thrust it at her.

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you," He replied, much sharper than he had meant to. "Just wait here, you'll be safe with _that_,"

Mulder turned his back on her, expecting a fiery reply but none came. The Scully he knew would've reacted, but this wasn't the Scully he knew. He swallowed his emotions, attempting to hold himself together long enough to work out _what the hell was going on, who was responsible and where she had been for the last month_. Weapon firmly attached to his right hand, he proceeded further into her living room, which was open plan with the kitchen and dining area. Aside from the gloomy table lamp, the room was dark and shadowy, and he attempted to find the light switch on the wall. He remembered exactly where it was, being a regular guest in her apartment beforehand. However as he approached the spot where it resided on the wall, he realised it had been smashed off; potentially with a crowbar.

"Scully," he turned to face her, as she stood where he'd left her in the hallway. "Did you do this?"

He waited for her reaction, but none came.

"No."

"Well who did it?"

He watched her, confused by her lack of emotion, her hands gripped tightly around the crowbar. He walked back towards her as she failed to reply, but stopped suddenly in his tracks just a few feet away from her, when he heard the sound of movement coming from the bedroom.

Mulder paused; despite the weapon in his hand, he felt frightened. She stared at him, cold and outright, her knuckles drained to a sickly white as she squeezed tighter on to the crowbar. Once more he wiped the blood from his head injury on his shirt sleeve, concerned as it continued to bleed, only adding to his fear of who or what was in the apartment with them. He was more than aware he was in no state to defend the two of them, let alone himself.

"Don't go in there."

"I don't have much choice do I?" he snapped unwillingly.

He continued the few steps towards her bedroom door, determined to catch and potentially injure whoever was behind the door, until he was pulled back roughly by the arm.

"Get off."

He immediately attempted to shrug off her hold on him, frustrated when she refused to let go.

"Stop it."

"Mulder please,"

He pushed her away roughly, cocked his gun and put his hand on the door handle to open it. She refused to back down, and yanked the gun out of his hand. It was less than a struggle – he simply hadn't expected her to do such a careless thing.

"What the fuck are you doing-"

To his dismay, she pointed the gun at him with her free hand, holding the crowbar in the other down by her side.

"Get away from the door."

He swallowed nervously.

"No."

"Do it!"

He could see clearly that her hands were shaking. She was frightened. He didn't believe she had it in her, and so he put his hand on the door handle.

He heard the gunfire before he felt it shatter the wall inches from him. It was shrill and muffled his hearing, a sound he had heard the few times he had pulled the trigger.

In the next few moments that passed with the initial shock he couldn't help but catch her terrified stare, standing there holding the gun up at him. He opened his mouth to speak, attempting to reconcile with her, anything to calm her from the disarray she felt – he was halted by the sound of the front door bursting open.

She panicked, and as a result of her defensive state she pointed the gun at the intruders in the doorway. Mulder read the situation quickly in the split second he saw the police burst through the front door, armed to the hilt and aiming right back at her – he didn't think_ carefully_, not clearly or sharply as he usually would've done, and without judgement he attempted to grab her and pull her out of the way of gunshot. In a momentary miscalculation, he felt the sharp stab of a bullet rip through his skin.

#

Walter Skinner was awoken by his wife, Sharon, in the middle of the night. At first he had been certain it was something to do with the storm outside; he wondered if it had worsened or if their first floor apartment had started to flood with all the rain. However as he sat up in bed and looked at his wife, she seemed as confused as he was.

"What's wrong?"

"Walter, there's a phone call for you,"

He looked round at the alarm on their bedside table – it was 2:25am.

"Who is it?"

"The police."

He felt strong waves of dread fill his stomach and proceeded to get out of bed and go to the phone. As he paced across the darkness of the bedroom and to the living room, he tried to kick start his brain as it had been pulled from a deep sleep. He hadn't been woken up to take a call from the police in a _long time_. If anything he hadn't been expecting any calls out of hours at all lately, especially now the X Files were closed and Agent Mulder was out of trouble.

_Unless of course…._

The phone was waiting for him on the table. He dreaded what else was waiting for him on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Is this Walter Skinner speaking?"

"Yes," he replied, nervously. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"I'm sorry to call you this late, sir, but this is in regards to a missing persons case,"

_Scully…_

"Have you found her?"

"Sir you need to come straight to the hospital, the FBI have been trying to get in touch with you for the last hour,"

"What's happened?"

"There's been an incident…"


	12. Aftermath

_Chapter Twelve – Aftermath_

* * *

"Fox…"

He licked his lips, noticing unconsciously that they were dry and chapped from the cold air. His eyes remained shut; yet he did not question his whereabouts, being overcome by an unnatural sleep.

"Time to open your eyes…."

It was only when he felt a hand stroke the side of his face, along the bruised and battered skin from where he had been struck, did he finally open his eyes.

In those few moments it took for his eyes to adjust to daylight, he felt his head flood with recollections of the night before – in more ways than one – as the headache of yesterday made its presence felt.

Through hazy, blurred eyes he stared at the door opposite his bed, watching through the glass window as figures walked past in the corridor outside. It took him a few minutes to adjust, but when his vision began to sharpen he identified the people as doctors, nurses and the like.

_Hospital. Of course.._

In recognition of his surroundings, he became very aware of the quiet trills and beeps of the machine next to his bed, monitoring him.

Aside from the dull ache of his injuries he felt confused as to how he came to be in the hospital – _he certainly hadn't driven himself there_. He took note of the plastic wire leading from a drip to his wrist. Again, he tried to remember how it came to be there and who administered it, but it was all a blur. The clothes he had been wearing were gone, replaced by a hospital gown, presumably having been cut off him with a pair of scissors by the doctors in his unconscious state. Nonetheless he didn't care; they had been more than ruined by blood before their sorry end.

"How are you feeling?"

Mulder identified the voice instantly as Sarah, before he even made eye contact with her sitting on the chair next to his hospital bed. He twisted his neck to look at her, grimacing as the room shifted in his vision, either with concussion or the strong hospital drugs keeping pain at bay…he assumed both.

"Like I've been hit by a truck…"

"I'm not surprised," she replied, squeezing his hand.

He looked down at their intertwined hands momentarily. He wondered how long he had been unconscious for, before speculating with unease at how long she had been there waiting for him to wake up.

"You've got 12 stitches on just your head alone…"

_Scully…_

"Where is she?" he asked, recoiling as his voice wavered.

"Dana?"

"Yes,"

"She's on a different ward," she explained calmly.

Mulder couldn't help but feel her grip around his hand tighten slightly, in what he assumed was a gesture of comfort.

"Is she okay?" he asked again, insistently. "_Is she_ _hurt_?"

"Fox she's fine, she's doing okay," she replied, "She just needs to rest."

He nodded, attempting and yet struggling to gain some reassurance from her words.

"I'm guessing that means I can't see her yet,"

Sarah shook her head, pushing her dark hair out of her face nervously.

"When she wakes up, the police will want to interview her and talk to her about what happened..." She explained comfortingly. "Focus on getting better for now - you're lucky just to be here."

He said nothing for the moment. The thought of her waking up alone in a hospital room after everything that had happened worried him. More so, he dreaded what the police were to uncover when she woke up. After last night, she was in no state to talk about what happened, even to him. She had attacked him, lashed out and refused to co-operate with him, before pointing a gun at the police which he ended up taking the bullet for.

He remembered being shot, twice, once in his left arm, which from what he could see was very well bandaged up in medical dressing, and once through his left shoulder, which happened to ache ten times worse. It had been his fault entirely for shielding her from the gunfire, yet nonetheless he was just grateful it had been him instead of her, and of course if the shots had been any lower he probably wouldn't have been so lucky.

"Who's the guy who shot me?"

"Just a cop, no one from the Bureau…" Sarah informed him, sighing slightly. "It was an accident."

"An accident?"

She met his stare with her eyes at the sudden change in his tone.

"Fox they weren't aiming for you,"

"_I know who they were aiming at_." Mulder replied, swallowing his resentment.

She sighed again, struggling with the emotions of her partner and feeling thoroughly exhausted.

"Fox why did she have your weapon?"

"Good question," he replied bitterly. "She took it from me…"

"Why?"

"I don't know." He explained. "She was terrified."

He paused for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand and attempting to hold himself together.

"Terrified of what, Fox?"

"Again, I don't know," he replied, shaking his head slightly. "I thought maybe there was someone else in the apartment with us,"

He watched as she shook her head.

"The cops searched the apartment; there was no one else there." She informed him. "According to Skinner there have been alarms wired up on that place for the last month. The only reason the cops turned up to find you was because either you or Dana tripped the alarm by opening the front door."

He pulled his stare away from contact with her and rested his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes momentarily as they began to feel sore from tiredness. He was tired, in every aspect of the word, not only from the night before but the entire nightmare of the whole thing.

"Perhaps she was just frightened of me."

He felt her squeeze his hand as it still remained interlocked with his, the only source of comfort he had right now aside from a warm bed.

"I'm sorry you had to be the one to sit with me in the hospital…"

"Fox don't worry," she replied, meeting his sad gaze as his eyes fluttered open. "And like I said before, she's going to be okay, she's in good hands…."

########

########

She had spent hours staring up at the grey ceiling, barely blinking. For a while she had convinced herself she had been in the limbo between sleep and consciousness, drifting but unable to let go, however she found the paralysis throughout her body alarming. Even her fingers refused to respond to movement as she became irritated by the strand of her hair in front of her right eye. At least now, she thought to herself, she was indoors and sheltered from the cold and rain outside. Something inside the depths of her distorted memory reminded her she had been out there in the rain. It had been unpleasant.

It was unclear how long she had been there, her memory seemingly in a million fragmented pieces. She reminded herself that she was Dana Scully and that her birthday was 23rd February 1964. She remembered that she was 34 years old and that it was 1998… the weather had started to get colder…she remembered recently getting over her cancer, and her life before any of that, her work, her family, her friends, Mulder….but the room she was in and the circumstances of how she came to be there were nothing more than blurred, distorted memories. It had confused her and frightened her; if it hadn't been for the dazed state she was in, she was more than certain she would've panicked. For now, she was comfortable, no longer cold nor wet. She wasn't even sure how she knew of the rain outside – the memory was _just there_, but with no explanation. The ache she had previously felt had subsided and was tolerable. However she did not feel she was alone.

There was a man at the foot of her bed. A tall, older man with grey hair. She knew his face, _she knew it very well_, but struggled to understand. She couldn't take her eyes off him from the moment he entered her vision. He stared straight back. She had no idea how long he had been standing there, watching her.

He approached her, calmly and quietly, until he stood right at her side. He smelt strongly of cigarettes, a smell that frightened her and _reminded her_. From her paralysis, she saw how he held a small, metal case, and she watched him open it. She felt, or at least _heard_ her heart race from the monitor beeping in a shrill manner next to the bed. From the paranoid abyss of her mind she failed to recognise the monitor and its purpose, lacking the ability to recognise her surroundings which as a Doctor she knew all too well.

She felt the rough skin of his aged hands lift her limp arm, snagging uncomfortably at the wire attached to her wrist. The desperation to react and pull herself away from him overwhelmed her, but sheer disgust alone did nothing to overcome her paralysed state. In the moments that followed, her lifeless body didn't even allow her to wince at the sudden sharp twinge of a needle pricking her bruised skin. She simply lay there, staring up at him.

Momentarily he withdrew the needle from her flesh – the glass cavity inside now filled with her blood – a sample. He placed it back into the silver case he had delivered it in, and left, shutting the door behind him.


	13. Recovering

_Chapter Thirteen – Recovering_

* * *

_"She's not infected."_

He pulled off his surgical gloves, and carefully disposed of them. He felt the uncomfortable stare of the two older men in suits watching him intently, studying and moderating his every move. As he removed his surgical mask, he forced himself to meet with their eye contact. They could tell he was nervous.

"100 percent sure?"

The younger man nodded, his eyes on the sample of blood on the lab table.

"I tested it three times. It's clean."

The two older men exchanged looks momentarily.

"It's not possible."

The younger man swallowed anxiously.

"There isn't even a trace of the virus; it's completely 100 percent clean." He explained, insistently. "Are you sure she came into contact with it?"

"She has puncture wounds to her vital arteries, at the neck and wrist, like the others."

"And what about the _others_?"

He watched as the older men thought for a moment cautiously.

"Unlike the aggression and strength it brings out in the males, the virus doesn't take too kindly to female DNA. It obliterates it."

He sighed, thinking cautiously himself as the two older men watched him doubtfully.

"She definitely came into contact with the virus. It's just not possible she could have survived it."

"Well then you only have one option," he told the two men. "She must have some kind of immunity to it."

######

######

Skinner stood in the corridor outside, his back against the wall opposite Room D2 – 503. He was waiting as patiently as he could, for Agent Mulder that is, to join him. Except he was struggling to stay alert and awake, having been woken in his sleep 48 hours ago by his wife with the police on the phone.

He was armed and on guard whilst the police had interviewed her a few hours before, however their attempts to gain evidence and a statement from her had been a struggle. She appeared drowsy and struggled to remember much past the night Fox happened to find her. Knowing what state she was in and the fact that whoever was responsible was still out there only made him worry all the more about her safety, and even after the police had gone he remained at the door.

Eventually, a male figure caught the corner of his eye, just as he realised he was beginning to drift off into sleep again. He turned his head and realised it was Mulder with Agent Beckett, finally dressed in the clean clothes she had brought him, however with his arm bandaged up tightly in a sling - although it was his forehead that drew the most attention.

"Agent Mulder…"

"Sorry I kept you waiting," he spoke, his voice courser than usual. "Took longer than usual to dress myself,"

Skinner nodded uncomfortably, noting once again his injured shoulder and arm held together tightly in a stiff blue medical sling.

"How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine,"

Skinner nodded once more, disbelieving the younger man stood in front of him with rather unsightly bruising and stitches on the side of his forehead. Much like the stitched up injuries, it seemed as if he was struggling to hold himself together. He appeared drained and pale from the last two days spent in hospital; if anything he looked as exhausted as Skinner was, who had been awake for nearly the entirety of the last two days.

"How is she?"

"She's okay, she's resting now," Skinner replied, watching the younger mans eyes drift to the glass window. "The police interviewed her this morning."

Mulder nodded, relieved to hear she was doing fine and that _everything was going to be okay_, and yet at the same time he felt an imminent dread to hear the details of the interview, knowing that eventually he would have to hear it.

"Any progress?"

Skinner shook his head.

"I see.."

He felt Sarah's hand gently rest on the small of his back, attempting to comfort him.

"Did they get a statement?" she asked.

He sighed.

"Not exactly,"

"So no suspects then…"

"Not yet," he replied, sullenly. "The hospital wants to discharge her tomorrow,"

Once again, Mulder felt his nerves twisting tightly and uncomfortably.

"She's not safe to be alone." He spoke bluntly, attempting to ignore the anxiety he felt in the pit of his stomach.

"I agree," Skinner assured him, attempting to catch his gaze but failing as it looked elsewhere. "The Bureau wants to put her in a safe house."

The mere thought of hiding her away in a safe house was quite the dose of cold reality Mulder was not willing to swallow. He had barely thought about where to go from here. The entire time she had been missing he had only thought of getting her back, safe and _alive_; he had scarcely considered the aftermath.

"I think it would be a good thing if you spent some time with her this evening…"

Through the glass window of the door, he caught a glimpse of her red hair spread over the white pillow. Her face however turned away from prying eyes.

"Is she awake?"

"On and off."

Mulder nodded. He felt Sarah's hand move from his back to his uninjured arm and grasp it gently.

"I'll wait here for you," she said, comfortingly. "I'll take you home after."

"Thank you…" he replied, recoiling slightly at the thought of being unable to drive.

He walked towards the door and turned the handle with his free hand, leaving the two other agents behind. He felt the dread churning away inside him nervously, but he chose to ignore it, as he always did, and shut the door behind him.

The sound of the door shutting however didn't even make her stir.

It's not as if he had imagined her to be awake and welcoming him with open arms, but he hadn't considered _this_ either. He thought nervously for a moment, unable to take his eyes off her. She lay back against the white pillows with the sheets wrapped around her neatly, as if she had barely moved in her sleep. Unlike his view from outside, he could see her face, turned to one side, her eyes shut. He approached her bedside, taking note of the chair next to the bed as he proceeded to sit down wearily.

The room was better lit than her apartment had been, and with that he was able to look at her properly. Her skin was bruised faintly, as if it had happened many days ago and had started to heal, but nonetheless it attracted his attention. Her face leaned away from him, towards the opposite wall, and yet he couldn't help but notice a slight bruising along her cheekbone. He thought perhaps she had hurt herself in her escape, as he had wondered how she came to be in her apartment in the middle of the storm. But at the back of his mind, the more likely option surfaced against his will in his thoughts – the one that made his hands ball up into fists - _that she had_ _been beaten hard across the face_.

He pushed the thoughts out of his head, as best as a troubled man could, and leaned across to push a strand of her hair out of her face. Doing so, he exposed the side of her neck.

_Puncture wounds._

Immediately in the moment he moved away her hair and caught sight of her neck, he felt the tight grip of her hand seize his wrist.

He was startled.

Her eyes were open – and now staring back at him. The grip around his wrist remained tight, as her alarmed eyes studied the face she momentarily hadn't recognised.

"Scully…"

Through the haziness of being awoken, she knew his voice. It comforted her to some extent as she met his gaze properly and consciously, recognising the familiar facial features she knew so well. She slowly reduced the grip she had on his wrist until she let go of him altogether and he removed his hand, tearing her eyes away from his in shame.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you…" he whispered to her, anxiously.

She sighed slightly, when she realised she had been holding her breath out of sheer nerves. Throughout the fragmented mess of her memory, she couldn't help but remember the man who grabbed her by the throat in the field, and his scarred, marked face.

"I thought you were someone else." She murmured, so quietly he barely heard her speak.

He didn't reply at first. She felt his seeking eyes on her skin, desperate for her to look at him. She struggled completely and utterly, until she felt the warmth of his hand bravely reach for hers. He gently grasped her hand in an attempt to comfort her - however finding his eyes drawn to her wrist, laden with puncture wounds.

He remembered back to the micro memory card in the envelope labelled D.S., specifically the photos of the bodies with puncture wounds to the neck and wrists. The nerves in his stomach worsened as he attempted to make sense of it all. It was hard to tell what the puncture wounds were caused by, yet due to the scattering of the cuts at the neck and wrist it seemed as if they had been attempting to reach the artery.

_The only question he couldn't answer was a simple why._

She watched him as he studied her wrist, just for a few elongated moments that made her feel nervous, until he turned her wrist over and intertwined their fingers. She dreaded that he would ask her about it, ask her what happened and who did this to her, when she simply didn't have the answers. The memories were buried alive inside of her, and she daren't try to find them, even if he asked her to.

But this time he didn't ask.

"I'm sorry I let this happen to you," he whispered, staring holes into her until she uncomfortably met his eyes.

"Mulder.."

"I shouldn't have asked you to meet me that late at night, in _that place_,"

She stared back at the weak, tired looking man sitting at her bedside, stitched up and bandaged into place from being hit over the head and shot twice in one night, drained to a shadow of his former self. She felt something inside of her recoiling at the thought that he had been suffering without her and _because of her_.

"Mulder I went because I wanted to," she replied. "I _wanted_ to help you,"

He sighed inwardly.

"I'm tired of always putting you at risk." He explained solemnly.

"It's _my risk_…"

He shook his head.

"There is no more risk." He replied. "We're not even partners anymore."

He felt her blue eyes stare at him even after he looked away.

"Did you make that decision?"

"No." he spoke, faintly.

She said nothing for a while. Neither of them did. Their hands remained tangled together, and neither one of them let go or pulled away. She felt her heart racing in her chest as she lay there, thinking desperately as she came to terms with the sobering reality that had been waiting for her. She felt sick.


	14. Safe House

_Chapter Fourteen – Safe House_

* * *

She began unpacking her bag almost from the moment she set the room key down on the kitchen table. Her mother had packed it for her, after a brief phone call to confirm exactly what she needed. A few outfits, shoes, coat, make up, soap, toothbrush and the rest. It was enough for now.

The policewoman who had walked her to the door had been blunt, rather than sympathetic, and yet she liked that. Any sympathy would've tipped her over the edge.

"There are contact numbers in the second drawer down, by the bed," she had explained, her eyes attached to the watch on her wrist. "All calls are monitored."

"Thank you."

She hadn't stayed long, and yet again, Scully couldn't help but feel relieved. There were guards downstairs in the building, but they were quiet, like the rest of the building, and it helped her to forget for just a few moments.

As she had been told, she locked and double locked the front door. She deliberately avoided the mirror in the bathroom, however tempting it was to have a hot bath; she recoiled at the thought of looking at her appearance for the first time. From the annoying sensation of hair tickling her neck, she guessed her hair might be a little longer than her usual short crop, needing a slight trim, and she was makeup-less, something she intensely disliked. The thought that Mulder had seen her lying in the hospital bed in such a manner made her wince. However, she chose to overlook her less than perfect appearance, for one afternoon only.

It was late Fall now, most of which Scully had missed, including the storm and the hurricane season. Winter was coming, and the afternoon daylight hadn't lasted long before dusk began to make its way into the apartment. Much like her own apartment across town, it was an open space with the living room and the kitchen - so in her usual manner she left the kitchen lights on dim, with the table lamp on in the living room. It was a modest apartment, clean, neat, simplistic. She knew it would be. _At least_, she thought, there was enough space for her_ to be alone_, to calm herself and attempt to gather up the mess her life had fallen in to. She had no idea how long she would be here for. Although the idea of leaving was unnecessary – she didn't exactly want to go straight back to her own apartment either.

From the few personal items she had with her, her cell phone was not among them. However she had one number she wanted to call, one that she remembered very well over the years. She wondered if he was busy, what department they had moved him to and who his new partner was. He hadn't exactly spoken in much detail about how he had been the past four weeks. However he had stressed that he had wanted her to call him, as soon as she was settled and unpacked and ready to talk to him.

The phone lay on the side table next to the sofa, where she had found herself sitting and simply staring at the television blankly for the last hour. _Nothing much on. No excuses not to call_.

She picked it up, remarking to herself how cheap and plastic it looked; aged from years of simply sitting in a safe house apartment. Scully wondered how many people had been in her position, tempted to call a loved one.

_All calls were monitored, of course_...she had been warned about making calls with details of her whereabouts and condition…but the need to talk to him overwhelmed her.

She bit her lip, anxiously, picked up the phone and found the courage to dial the number.

It rang several times, as phone calls usually go, but in her mind it lasted for what seemed like a lifetime, until she almost gave up hope that he would answer. But eventually, an equally anxious Agent Mulder reached across his desk and answered.

"Hello."

It was more of a statement, rather than a question. He had been expecting a call, all day, wondering if she would at all, too distracted by his nerves to do much work.

"Mulder, it's me."

He paused momentarily, much to her dismay.

"Scully…" he whispered, when he finally spoke. "Are you okay?"

She felt herself sigh inwardly with relief at the sound of his voice.

"Yes, I'm fine…" she lied, hoping the shakiness in her voice wouldn't give herself away. "How are you?"

She heard him sigh slightly.

"I've had better days," he replied, pausing again which she hated.

She thought for a moment, attempting to break the falseness of their conversation, until she heard a woman's voice in the background.

_"Who is it, Fox?"_

_"It's Scully."_

_"What does she want?"_

She listened, but struggled to hear, whilst subconsciously dug her long fingernails painfully into the palm of her hands.

"Are you at work?" she asked, when the woman's voice finally disappeared.

"Yeah, I am," he replied. "It's been a long day."

She nodded to herself.

"Who was _that_?"

"That was Sarah."

"_Who is Sarah_?"

He sighed again, rather obviously.

"My partner."

In the pit of her stomach came a shameful pang of jealousy.

"What's it like where you are?" he asked, quietly, attempting to change the conversation. "Are they treating you well?"

"_Mulder I want to see you_."

He paused, again, disheartened by the distress in her voice.

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

"Ok."

"Really?"

"Yes." He spoke, barely audibly. "I'll come round tonight after work."

They didn't speak for long. However it was only when she hung up the phone and put it back on the table, that she noticed the red fingernail imprints bruised into the palm of her hand.

##

He placed his cell phone back down on his desk, staring at it even after the lit up screen had faded to a dormant blackness. The number had no caller id, and yet from the moment he realised his phone had been ringing he knew exactly whom the caller was. Even afterwards, the sound of her voice left him a little shaky and nervous, and yet he didn't really understand why.

Mulder sighed, for the hundredth time that day, and caught glimpse of Sarah's stare from the desk opposite. In the corner of his eyes he thought she had been reading something on her computer screen, when he realised she had been watching him intently, eyes over the top of the screen, the entire time.

"She ok?"

He shrugged, and moved his stare to his own computer screen.

"Good question."

He attempted to distract himself with an article he had been merely skimming over before the phone call, but now struggled to concentrate.

Sarah continued to watch her partner from across their desks, with slight annoyance. His distraction from work and life generally had begun to grate on her, with such little incidences beginning with Dana and ending with missed deadlines.

It was her turn to sigh, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes as she watched the man whom she assumed was pretending to work, eyes glued to the computer screen, but barely moving.

"I wonder how long they'll keep her under protection."

Mulder looked up again from the screen as she spoke.

"Can't imagine she'll enjoy being there." She added, avoiding his eyes as she busied herself with the computer.

She silently hoped to herself Dana would remain out of sight for as long as possible, out of reach and contact with her partner, so perhaps for once they could get some work done, and of course keep Skinner off her back.

"Well if she doesn't like it, she can stay with me." He replied, abruptly.

She paused – to think momentarily – and bit her lip with annoyance.

"After what happened?"

"Yes, _after what happened_." He informed her, ignoring her stares as they skimmed over his arm and shoulder still bandaged up in a sling. "I owe her this much."

Through self restraint, she swallowed her frustration and annoyance.

"What exactly do you owe her?"

Mulder looked up again, meeting her eyes that stared straight back at him.

"Don't you think that perhaps for a change you should owe someone else?" she continued. "Perhaps the _someone_ who has taken you under their wing as partner, listened to you, _put up with you_, stayed by your side at the hospital?"

He winced slightly – which she took pleasure in.

"Sarah you know I'm grateful for all those things…"

"Then maybe for a change you ought to think about doing some work around here." She replied, bluntly. "With me, _your partner_…"

"Scully – is my partner."

"_Was_."

He didn't reply this time, as equally fed up as her, and simply continued with his blank stare at the screen of his computer. It didn't take him long to lose patience, grab his suit jacket and coat that lay on the back of his chair and leave without another word. He didn't even bother with a goodbye.

He made his way out of the department, ignoring the permanent stares of his colleagues and other agents, whom he imagined were taking bets on how long it would take for him to finally go nuts or get fired. Regardless of his paranoia, he led himself towards the elevator, and pressed for the Ground Floor. After a few elongated moments of waiting, the sound of rushing air informed him much to his relief that the elevator had arrived at the floor. As the doors opened he came face to face with Walter Skinner, stony faced and alone.

He cringed slightly, making his way inside.

"Hi."

"Afternoon."

The doors shut promptly, awash with the usual elevator awkwardness. He pushed the button for the Ground Floor with his free hand, drawing unwanted attention from Skinner, whom immediately took notice.

"How's the shoulder?"

"A little stiff."

Skinner nodded, his eyes attached to the medical sling.

"I forgot to thank you, for the other day…"

"Its fine, Agent Mulder."

"For the envelope."

The doors opened at Ground Level, and Mulder proceeded to leave through them. He didn't bother to catch the confusion on the older man's face. Lacking the truth, he simply hadn't expected that reaction. And all truths aside, he didn't want to spend another minute in that building.


	15. A Chance to Speak

_Chapter Fifteen – A Chance to Speak_

* * *

Scully sat up abruptly from her curled up position, remembering her phone call earlier to Mulder, whilst catching glimpse of the last shred of daylight outside in the corner of her eye.

She forced herself up, brushing her hair down with her fingers when she suddenly felt conscious of her appearance.

The door knocked again, and she made her way over to it, unlocking both locks, and pulling it open.

Before her tired eyes had a moment to react, a pair of unfamiliar hands seized her by the shoulders, forcefully and aggressively, pulling her out into the corridor and into their chest to restrain her. She heard someone screaming, whilst another seemingly larger pair of hands pulled her head backwards by the hair, before forcing a cloth over her mouth. The screaming stopped – as she finally realised it had been her own voice – and everything went dark very quickly.

She opened her eyes, again, in what felt like the passing of mere minutes. As before, she had been woken by the sound of a knock at the door. In sheer paranoia, she sat up from her position, only to find herself back on the sofa in the apartment. It was now dark outside.

She let a few moments pass as she attempted to grasp reality, wincing slightly when the door knocked again.

##

He waited patiently on the other side of the door, trying hopelessly to control his nerves. When he knocked again, this time a little louder, he heard the sound of her footsteps pacing across the floorboards, before stopping at the door. He imagined she was checking to see who it was, through the peephole, as she nearly always did, and he felt himself awkwardly and reassuringly smile in its general direction.

When she finally opened the door, the attempted smile he'd had on his face prior to this moment faded away.

"Scully.."

"Hi…"

Behind the calm exterior she'd always had, he couldn't help but notice her trembling hands holding the door open.

"Please come in."

Mulder nodded, thinking briefly for a moment as he attempted to gather up the words to say, instead receiving a strange look as he stood idly in the doorway. Awkwardly he forced himself into animation again and made his way past her into the apartment, as she had gestured moments before. She shut the door behind him - remembering to lock it like she'd been told.

"Nice place."

She looked up at him anxiously, meeting his eyes properly.

"You like it?"

"Yeah," he replied, attempting to smile again. "You got lucky."

She half smiled back at him, hoping that her eyes didn't give her away - however they did, and he read her like a book.

They didn't speak for just a few moments, standing awkwardly by the front door. It was an uncomfortable silence as he struggled to find the words to say to her, whilst she continually held all her emotions in restraint behind an icy front, like she always did. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her and tell her _everything was going to be okay_…but he knew Scully too well, he knew that she would not like to be _held_, at all, by him especially.

"Would you like a drink? Tea?"

He sighed inwardly with relief, when she finally cut the tension with small talk.

"Yes, please."

He sat with her in the kitchen, watching her every move, silently. Across from the kitchen in the living area, the television played quietly.

_"Brutal murders in the Washington DC area…"_

Usually he would've done well to have paid attention to the news reporter on the screen. However Mulder felt anything other than his _usual self_; he was distracted, completely and utterly. She felt his eyes on her back, and yet in the manner she had grown accustomed to with him, she chose to ignore it.

She placed the mug of tea down on the coaster in front of him, and sat down in the chair next to his.

"Thank you."

The kitchen table was tiny, more a rounded desk than a table in fact, but he didn't mind in this particular moment. He was happy just to be here.

"How's the shoulder?" she asked, her eyes drawn to his arm in the sling.

"A little stiff," he replied, wondering how many times he had been asked that today.

She nodded, watching him as he drank the tea. She tried not to stare at the stitches on the side of his head, the product of her own irrational behaviour. However he had noticed her guilty stare long before she realised.

"It's quite a girl-repellent isn't it?" he teased her, gesturing to the startling injury she struggled to take her eyes off.

Tearing her eyes away, she felt blood rush to her face.

"Mulder…"

She could hear the forced smile in his voice and immediately hated it.

"Make sure to keep it clean, don't pick it," she warned him, uncomfortably. "Otherwise it could scar."

Mulder smiled slightly to himself, despite the damage she had done to him just days ago. The serious, Dr Scully tone of her voice hadn't been inflicted on him for a lengthy period of time. He had missed it, almost as much as he had missed her.

She looked up at him again, having pulled herself together and hoped her face hadn't flushed red with the shame she felt. He was smiling, only slightly, but it was enough to set her mind at rest.

With his free hand, he reached across the table and squeezed her hand gently. She squeezed back, once again reassured by his patience with her.

"Scully you're freezing…"

"Am I?"

He gestured for both her hands, unable to reach for them himself due to his restrained arm, and wrapped them around the hot mug of tea.

"Thanks." She whispered, comforted as he placed his hand around hers protectively.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah I'm fine, Mulder." She replied trying to sound assuring. "Just cold, I guess."

He nodded, trying to believe her. With her hands so close to his, again he noticed the injuries to her wrists peering out from under the long sleeves of her clothing, prompting him to ask her about what happened, what she could remember exactly if anything at all. He wondered if the photographic evidence stored on the micro memory card would jog her memory…However in that moment he was distracted by the sound of his cell phone ringing in his coat pocket.

Scully felt him pull his hand away to reach for his cell phone, awkwardly taking her own hands back and resting them on her lap instead. He didn't answer, however a frown set itself across his face.

"Who is it?"

He ended the call and switched off the cell phone altogether, placing it face down on the table.

"Work."

From the look on his face, Scully had guessed already. She thought for a moment, wondering whether to continue on the topic she so desperately wanted answers for.

"_Sarah?"_

He paused, momentarily.

"Yes."

She bit her lip subconsciously, feeling her nerves uncomfortably twisting in her stomach.

"Don't you like her?"

He looked up from the tea he had just finished, feeling her eyes burning holes into him. He shrugged slightly, trying to find the appropriate words to sum up the rather attractive, bitter and exasperated female Agent he had been assigned to against his will.

"She's ok."

Although she would never admit it, she couldn't help but feel relieved momentarily.

"She's _ok_?" Scully replied, unable to control her desire to pry.

"Yeah," he said, with a sigh. "I guess you could say that."

Mulder looked up at her again when he realised that he had subconsciously avoided her eyes, silently hoping she hadn't noticed. But of course, she _had_ noticed. She looked back at him plainly, attempting to maintain the impression that she was fine and remained detached and unaffected. In her head she already had a depiction of the woman who had replaced her, knowing Mulder and his history with tall, dark haired and beautiful women. She felt intimidated, but as usual she refused to acknowledge this herself, passing off her behaviour with any excuse she could attain.

"Scully, I don't want you to worry about work, for now," he told her, "When you come back, we will deal with everything then."

"_I'm not worried_."

She was unconvincing; however it was enough to make him hesitate.

"Well that's _fine_ then, I guess," he replied, stumbling over the words to say to her. "As long as you're okay.."

She nodded, struggling to convince herself let alone anyone else.

"When can I go back?" she asked. "I don't really want to be here for a long time…"

"I don't know, but I can't imagine it will be for long, I'm sure of it." He replied, attempting to calm her. "They just need to make sure you're safe."

"Safe?"

He nodded.

"_Am I safe_?" she questioned, sighing with exasperation.

"Of course you are," he reminded her, concerned by the strained tone in her voice.

"I barely remember anything," she murmured. "I don't even know who or what to look for…"

"You will remember, eventually," he replied. "There are people that can help with that."

Having been his partner for the past few years, she knew exactly the kind of people he was talking about.

"To be honest I'm not sure I even want to remember."

He sighed inwardly.

"I understand." He replied. "I'm not sure I'd want you to remember either…."

She looked up at him nervously. She sighed, again, uncomfortable when memories of her dream resurfaced in her mind.

"Mulder…" she spoke, so quietly it was barely audible.

He tried to catch her gaze as it now focused elsewhere, but it refused to meet with his, staring idly at the table.

"I'm afraid,"

"It's fine, Scully," he replied calmly. "It's normal."

She shook her head, tucking her hair neatly behind her ear subconsciously out of habit. The injury to her neck lay exposed as it finally caught the light and Mulder's attention.

"It would just be wonderful to go back to_ normal_,"

When her usual confident tone finally began to tremble in obvious distress, it was the last straw. Their chairs already close together, he pulled her closer with his only working arm. The reluctance she usually had was gone, for now, as she allowed him to hold her for just a few moments.

It was awkward, and possibly not the easiest position for either of them, but she felt a sort of _safety_ that she hadn't felt for a long time. After a few moments of resistance, she gave in to temptation and allowed herself to wrap her arms around his torso, careful not to put any stress on his injured arm. Her head rested just beneath his shoulder, which even though injured he didn't care and was just grateful she had allowed him this.

"You're still a little cold, you know…" he whispered to her.

"Mulder, I'm fine…" she replied, her voice a little muffled against his chest.

"Are you sure?"

Scully looked up at him, unexpectedly conscious of the mere inches between their faces. Their eyes met, for just a few seconds longer than she felt comfortable with.

"Yeah," she whispered, shrinking away from his stare. "I'm fine…"

She felt weak in his arms, and told herself she was just physically exhausted from everything that had happened. It wasn't a lie -she was a Doctor, after all, however she refused to believe she felt weakness for anything other than simple exhaustion.

#####

He arrived at the scene, precisely at 9.47pm. It was dark and raining outside, however he didn't bother with an umbrella - the wind would've swept it right out of his hands. He stepped out of the black car, shut the door behind him and made sure the driver would wait.

The city was still awash with the rain of the hurricane just days before, the aftermath of course. The streets were quiet enough, as it was late; however he had deliberately placed a sniper on look out from across the street just in case.

Despite the weather he reached into his coat pocket and lit up a cigarette, shielding the flame from the wind and rain. There were police gathering around an alleyway just a few metres away who caught sight of him. They knew who he was; they had been waiting for him.

A man in a black suit appeared from the gathering, a middle aged man he knew well from the Syndicate. Taking a drag from his cigarette, he approached the other man.

The police stared momentarily, and awkwardly.

"Lovely weather we're having." The Cigarette-smoking man uttered, exhaling smoke with his words.

"Quite."

The Cigarette-smoking man nodded callously, his eyes catching glimpse of the yellow police tape cordoning off the area surrounding the alleyway. He saw the blood before the bodies, spattered across the floor.

"Is it definitely one of ours?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Yes," the other man replied. "One of them had the punctures to the neck. An _infected_."

"And the others?"

"Ordinary people. Two men. Got caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time." He informed him. "It would seem they managed to fight off the infected one, but by that point it was too late for all of them."

The Cigarette-smoking man nodded again, inhaling from his cigarette as he attempted to relax.

"How many infected are lose in the city?"

"Approximately 20 males." He replied. "They escaped from Cherry Hill two nights ago."

"I see."

They both looked on and watched as the police attempted to put what was left of the bodies into the body bags.

"This is the fourth scene I've attended today," he explained as calmly as he could, holding his cigarette out the way of the rain. "This is beginning to spiral out of control."

"Correct."

The police pushed past them carefully, carrying the body bags towards an unmarked vehicle parked up.

"What are we to do about Cherry Hill?"

The Cigarette-smoking man thought carefully, his eyes skimming over the now empty crime scene to his left. Blood everywhere.

"Lockdown." He replied bluntly.

The other man nodded.

"What is the situation with _the subject_?"

"She's in good hands," he explained, the corners of his mouth forming a smile. "Her DNA is remarkable."

"And what about Fox Mulder?"

He paused again to take a long drag from his cigarette.

"I have Agent Beckett dealing with that situation."


	16. Passive Aggressive

_Chapter Sixteen – Passive Aggressive_

* * *

Mulder awoke in the darkness of the apartment, a little confused at first as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Then he remembered.

He was on the sofa, rather comfortably. The TV was playing quietly in the darkness as the only source of light in the room with not a single street light outside the window. It seemed a little odd, but he chose not to think about it. He considered checking his watch for the time, when he suddenly realised that Scully was no longer where he'd left her.

He stood up, bleary eyed and tired, deciding to call a taxi to get home but not before checking up on her. He walked towards the room he guessed was her bedroom, the door partly open. Through the darkness, he caught sight of her silhouette. He was certain she was sleeping, however he was tempted to wake her just to say goodbye.

He approached her side of the bed, crouching down to her level in an attempt not to frighten her when she awoke.

"Scully.."

She stirred slightly, and opened her eyes when she felt his hand gently stroke the side of her face.

Her eyes took just a moment to adjust to the darkness, yet for once she felt comforted as she immediately recognised the sound of his voice.

"I'm sorry to wake you…"

"It's fine, Mulder…." She whispered hazily, struggling to keep her eyes open. "What time is it?"

"It's almost 1am,"

"Are you leaving?" she asked, sitting up slightly.

"Yeah," he replied with a nod, "It's late."

She sighed inwardly, suddenly feeling awake.

"I don't want you to go." She murmured, feeling a sense of overwhelming fear at the thought of being alone.

"Scully, you'll be fine," he whispered, attempting to reassure her. "I'm at the end of a phone line if you need me.."

The darkness that had moments ago comforted her now concerned her.

"I don't want to be alone,"

He didn't reply, only worsening the shame and embarrassment she felt that she had actually confessed to her own vulnerability. In the morning she decided she would blame it on her lack of consciousness and claim to have sleep-talked.

"You have nothing to be afraid of,"

She caught glimpse of his eyes in the darkness from the tiniest fragment of light, staring at her. She said nothing, unsure of what to say and failing to notice his hand gently squeezing her arm as it rested across her lap. Something about this moment felt a little odd to her. Or perhaps something about herself didn't feel quite normal.

"I have to go," he spoke, barely audibly.

She nodded, feeling him remove his hand from her.

"Will you call me?" he asked.

"Yeah." She replied. "Tomorrow."

"Alright," he added, standing up from her side.

He felt that he had upset her, he was certain of that. He had wanted to stay, very much so, but he was taking a chance as it was just by being there in the safe house with her. The Bureau would've been furious.

As he had seen from the apartment windows, it was exceptionally dark when he left the safe house building later on that night. Of course it had been dark when he had arrived earlier on that evening, but by the time he had left several hours later the streets were barely lit at all, and for such a busy street there wasn't a single person to be seen. He didn't think much of it aside from the slight uneasiness he felt, however he soon forgot as his taxi pulled up at the side of the road. It was cold, and he was glad to be in the warmth of a car.

The drive back to his apartment building was quiet, as were the roads and the streets. It was a little strange and unusual for the streets to be quite so bare, even at 1am, but the driver said nothing. Mulder didn't care. He was tired and struggling to stay awake, and in addition to this he couldn't help but feel distracted by the company he had shared tonight.

He was worried about her, and hated the fact he was unable to do anything about it. Because of everything that had happened she couldn't even go to work or to her own apartment building. Scully was out of his reach physically, by the FBI and his superiors and by everyone else in authority trying to protectherand keep her away from the hazards of her_ infamous ex-partner_. It hurt, in every aspect of the word to think of what was happening, but he refused to kid himself into believing anything other than the truth. He felt that he was at risk of losing her altogether.

Seeing her tonight had more than likely pissed off Agent Beckett and anyone else in authority that were to find out, but hearing her voice at the other end of the phone line had pushed him over the edge and he simply couldn't say no to her.

The few hours they had together had been an attempt to reassure her and subtly pretend nothing had happened the past few months. It hadn't taken long for them to move from the kitchen to the sofa and watch several hours of TV, film after film, before drifting off into a light sleep. For just a couple of hours it felt like a Friday night at her place. The norm.

After a 20 minute drive, Mulder finally arrived at his apartment building. Much like the neighbourhood near the safe house, there was not a single person or car to be seen. It was eerily quiet, and he found himself hurry towards the apartment door and unlock it with the door code. He made his way inside, noting once again the unnatural silence, and proceeded to the elevator, hitting the button for the 3rd floor. As he reached his floor, he walked out of the elevator doors and down the corridor to his front door. With his only working arm, he fetched his keys from his coat pocket and slipped it into the keyhole, when he suddenly realised the door was unlocked.

Momentarily he felt a cold shiver run down his spine in realisation, before convincing himself abruptly he had simply left it unlocked by mistake before he left. Cursing under his breath, he opened the front door and let himself in. It was dark, except for the lit up screen of his computer on his desk.

Confused, he turned on the light switch next to the front door. Everything seemed normal enough – except the computer. It was switched on, when he hadn't used it for several days, with his email account open on the screen.

Mulder made his way over to the desk to turn it off again, when he noticed he had a new email from Byers. It had only been sent earlier on in the day, long before Mulder had the chance to check his emails and yet the computer listed it as already having been _read_.

"_Fox,_

_We've had a little breakthrough with that Micro SD card you brought to us – or rather the envelope itself. We ran an analysis on the fingerprint on the front of the envelope – turns out it's not a fingerprint at all. It's a code. _

_We did a little research into it and some of our contacts are telling us it's linked with some very controversial medical and warfare companies, and most notably the US Government. That aside we're doing a lot of tests on the micro SD card itself – if it's got anything to do with that fingerprint code, chances are there's a lot more data on it than we're seeing. We might even be able to work out who's had access to it and possibly who created it._

_Please get in touch as soon as you can. "_

##

Walter Skinner was working late again. He hadn't intended to, until he had driven half way across town before realising he had left his house keys on his desk. No one was in at home, as usual, and he found himself driving back to work in a terrible mood. He parked up and made his way back into the building, which now lay dark except one light shining through a window a few floors up. He made his way into the building, nodding at the security guards by the entrance. The time was now pushing on past 11.30pm; _not long until lockup_.

Picking up the pace a little, he took the elevator up to the 11th floor before walking down the corridor to his office. However he stopped in his tracks when he passed the boardroom just behind his office. There was a light coming from under the door. He paused momentarily, wondering if someone had left the light on, until he heard voices.

_"It's untraceable. Whoever sent it clearly knew what they were doing."_

It was an older man's voice - not the Cigarette-smoking man – but certainly one of which Skinner felt he had heard before.

_"He has contacts beyond our knowledge, which is why you need to start talking."_

Deciding it was none of his business he thought about walking onwards to his office, until a female voice spoke.

"Clearly you have never spent the day with Agent Mulder." Sarah replied, irritably. "He is an antisocial nightmare."

She sat back further into the black leather chair, taking another mouthful of wine from her glass to calm her nerves.

"I'm only going to ask you one last time," the older man assured her.

He was beginning to lose his patience, a lot sooner than she had anticipated.

"Who are his contacts?"

"I don't know." She replied with a sigh.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, uncomfortable with the stares of the older men surrounding her in the chairs opposite. They turned and looked at each other, exchanging glances.

"I'm trying, very hard," she informed them, anxiously. "This is just panning out to be a lot more difficult than I anticipated."

"That's why Spender chose you to be on this case." the man replied abruptly. "And he doesn't take too kindly to failure, as you know…"

"I attained copies of his apartment keys, I _found _the email.." She spoke, feeling a nervous sweat forming on her skin. "I'm doing exactly what was asked of me…"

"And what else?"

Sarah swallowed hard, beginning to lose her nerve under pressure.

"What do you suggest?"

The men paused to think momentarily, awkwardly so.

"Perhaps you need to become more _involved_ in Fox Mulder…" the man continued, pouring himself the rest of the wine that lay on the desk.

She felt herself recoil inside at the mere suggestion.

"_I am involved_," she explained bluntly. "This is not my fault."

"And what has he been doing the past seven days?"

She sighed, and finished her glass of wine. It was just the first glass, but already a second glass would've been much appreciated.

"Avoiding work,"

"To see Agent Scully?"

"Correct."

The man directly in front of her nodded.

"Well that won't be the case any longer." The man replied. "Agent Scully won't be making any more contact with Fox Mulder."

She couldn't help but scoff at the very idea of it.

"I should imagine that will only make the situation ten times worse."

"Perhaps." He replied, callously. "But we can't risk his interference. We have a crisis on our hands. And thanks to you, Agent Beckett, Fox Mulder and his contacts have a handful of evidence."

She sighed, frustratedly.

"I will get that envelope back."

"And when do you plan to do that?"

"Tonight."

##

The phone was ringing, loudly. Mulder heard it ringing in his sleep, and eventually forced open his eyes. It was daylight outside, barely, however it was enough to sting his eyes. The computer was still on, with the email spread out on the screen.

"Shit.."

He realised he had drifted off at his desk, after possibly several hours of thinking and contemplating what the email had said. However in reality those _several hours_ had only been 20 minutes of consciousness, having fallen victim to sleep when he had chosen to rest his eyes for just a few moments. Although even in sleep, his mind had continued to think about the email.

The phone continued to ring as he attempted to wake up, irritating him, before he eventually found the strength to reach over and answer.

"Hello?"

"Fox is that you?"

"Yeah…"

"We have a serious problem."

Mulder rubbed his tired eyes, struggling to recognise the voice.

"Who is this?"

"It's me - _Byers_."

"Oh," he replied, suddenly aware of the man's urgent tone of voice. "I got your email last night..."

"Mulder you need to come down," he insisted. "Something has happened."

"What's happened?"

"We've been raided, during the night…" Byers told him. "The power was cut, and they broke in,"

Mulder swallowed nervously.

"What?"

"Our data – the one for the micro SD card – it's been stolen."


	17. Stolen to Order

_Chapter Seventeen – Stolen to Order_

* * *

There was a man standing over her, watching intently amongst other people she did not recognise. He hadn't been there for long; he seemed tired and rushed, as if he had been attending other business beforehand and had rushed to be here. Again, she knew his face, she knew his familiar callous stare and cigarette smell and yet she could not remember. Her memory seemingly had been stolen from her.

She blinked several times, attempting to sit up but to no avail. She was motionless, beyond her own control.

Their faces poured over her, shrouded in surgical masks. She wondered if she was back at the hospital, perhaps dreaming. It was surreal, and yet she was comfortable, until she felt a masked person tilt her neck to the side.

"Administering the second dose,"

The unmasked, older man finally met her eyes. It was a stare she felt she recognised, as if he knew her from somewhere before; and yet she could not remember. It distracted her for just a moment, until she felt something cold and metal pressed against her neck, pausing temporarily.

"Hold her still."

In that moment several hands tightened on her skin, she heard the click of the metal against her neck followed by sharp, injecting pain. Through paralysis she simply laid there restrained beneath several pair of hands, until the instrument was removed from her skin. Her eyes watered, and yet he continued to stare at her.

"I think perhaps a little more Whitewash is required…" he spoke, in a concerned manner to his colleagues.

"More?"

"Yes." He replied, studying the tiny glimpse of recognition in her returning stare. "I think she remembers."

One of the masked figures nodded, suddenly taking grasp of her wrist. She felt the familiar metal object pressed against her skin, what she believed to be syringe, and the sharp pain that followed. It was quicker this time, yet his stare prolonged on her.

He studied her face, waiting until her eyes glazed over with a chemically induced memory loss.

She closed her eyes, tightly, trying to block him out; unsure of whom this strange man was as he continued to watch her. Moments passed until she lost track of how long she had lay there, determined to keep her eyes shut. She could hear their voices, she could smell the strong scent of his cigarettes, and yet she could not decipher a single word or a single face. They were anonymous.

##

True to his word, Mulder found himself outside their apartment building within the hour. As he suspected, there were no police outside.

The building appeared to have electricity, regardless of the power being cut during the break in; he could see that from the lights shining at the windows. He made his way over to the entrance of the building, buzzing the front door. It took them a little longer than usual to answer.

"Who is it?"

"Fox Mulder."

"Come right up."

The front door unlocked, and he climbed several flights of stairs until he got to their loft apartment at the very top. Their own front door however was not locked, and was wide open. He peered round the doorway into the room, to see Byers standing over his laptop. The curtains inside were drawn as always, and the only light came from the few computer screens scattered about the room; one of them however, smashed.

Byers nodded at him as Mulder made his way into the apartment, awkwardly. The light from his laptop screen casted shadows over his face.

"What happened?"

He sighed, and closed his laptop screen, dimming the room further into darkness. He switched on the table lamp instead.

"Mulder's here," he called out to the others who were in the next room.

Byers turned to face Mulder again, who approached him nervously.

"I think there is a lot more to this than meets the eye." He explained, sighing again.

Frohike and Langly appeared through the doorway leading into the opposite room, carrying what was left of broken computer. They too nodded at Mulder, a little less enthusiastic and energetic than usual.

"I don't understand…"

"Not much has been taken," Langly spoke up, placing broken parts onto the table in the centre of the room. "Except for one or two things,"

"A hard drive," Byers added. "Full of highly secretive data and documents…"

Mulder nodded, uncomfortably.

"And what else?"

"That memory card you brought to us."

He felt his pulse racing faster with the facts he already knew from the phone call earlier, and couldn't help but sigh.

"Why did they take the hard drive?" he asked. "What's the connection?"

"Everything," Langly replied abruptly. "All our research and work with that memory card was on there. Amongst other work, cases and such, relating to you and Scully…"

"Which is exactly why I asked you to come here," Byers continued.

Feeling alarmed he attempted to gather up his thoughts which now were scattered into disarray. He had to try to think logically, and calmly, whilst the reality of what was happening waited impatiently for his reaction.

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"You don't look so good…" Frohike finally spoke, studying the younger, unnerved man in front of them all.

He exhaled, attempting to remain calm and shook his head.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "But this is not…"

"Does Agent Scully know?" Byers asked, concerned.

Mulder shook his head again.

"She doesn't know the memory card even exists," he admitted, "I didn't tell her..."

"Where is Scully?" Frohike asked.

"The Bureau put her in safe accommodation, temporarily,"

The men all looked at each other, unsettled.

"Safe accommodation?"

Mulder paused, nervously.

"Are you sure about that?" Langly asked.

He couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at the silence in the room as he could now hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears. He rubbed his eyes nervously, concerned at the thoughts that came together in his head under the new circumstances.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, his voice faltering.

"There's no doubt this was a targeted break in," Byers explained. "Whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing and what they were looking for – and considering the circumstances and the content of what they stole, I think either you or Scully could be in danger…"

He swallowed, trying to ignore the horrible sensation he could only describe as fear pulse through him.

"Surely you had considered that?" Byers questioned him further, concerned by the hesitant face of the FBI Agent.

Mulder sighed, and rubbed his tired eyes again. It troubled him that his talents for crime and investigation had failed him once again with his recent struggle to concentrate on anything at all.

"I hadn't…"

The men once again exchanged looks, regarding the shamed FBI Agent standing in front of them.

"Don't let her out of your sight,"

He felt waves of unease begin to wash over him.

"I already have…"

##

Scully felt that she hadn't slept completely well - she felt overwhelmingly tired for someone who had just woken. The duvet felt comfortable enough, yet it was twisted around her awkwardly as if she had been restless in her sleep. Her eyelids struggled to open in weakness, and yet the light pouring through the curtains made it impossible to lie there any longer.

She turned herself onto her back; her hair sprawled out on the pillow behind her, and opened her eyes. Her eyes were blurry from sleep and struggled to adjust to the light. It was normal, until she caught sight of the male figure in the doorway.

"Mulder-"

She rubbed her eyes anxiously, only to find that they had gone. She wondered why he had stayed the night, when he had told her he was leaving…

Adrenaline kicked in, forcing her to sit up, unsteadily. There was blood on the pillow and the bed sheets. The man in the doorway was temporarily forgotten as she realised she was bleeding.

She checked herself nervously as she felt the familiar twinge of pain in her neck, as she had suspected. Panicking slightly she took herself into the bathroom to the mirror – the puncture wounds at her neck were bleeding. Attempting to wash some of the blood away at the sink, she realised her wrists too were sore, and seemingly had bled at some point during her sleep. She winced in pain as the cold water hit the wound – it looked fresh, much like the day she woke up in the field. The tiny stitches that had been applied at the hospital seemingly had gone. _It was impossible_, of course, convincing herself she had unsettled her injuries in her restless sleep somehow.

Scully washed off as much as she could, her pyjamas however stained. In the mirror she could see the damage to her neck; the punctured skin barely healed at all, many, many days after her ordeal. The bleeding had mostly stopped, yet her panic hadn't.

Struggling to maintain her calm temperament she considered making that phone call she had promised to Mulder, until she started to feel lightheaded, and the phone in the living room suddenly seemed so far away. She leaned on the sink in front of her at the mirror, attempting to steady herself.

Her vision faltered slightly, before the onset of nausea kicked in.

_##_


	18. Exposure

_Chapter 18 – Exposure_

* * *

She walked through the entrance to what had been the bustling scene of a fast food diner several hours ago. She had past it many times in the street before, specifically remembering the pretty waitresses in their blue striped uniforms she had seen in the window. The uniform stood brightly before her much like she had remembered it, yet now stained with red in the crumpled form of a body on the floor. There had been another massacre.

Several police officers who had gathered round the body turned to face her as she aroused their attention in the doorway. She showed her I.D.

"FBI."

They stared back at her momentarily.

"Agent Beckett?"

She nodded calmly, approaching them. Her eyes felt firmly fixed on the mangled remains of a woman on the floor, next to a second body she hadn't seen previously - a police officer - also dead. Yet she had greater concerns, as she came to realise the man she had specifically hoped to meet was not here to collect the memory card she had stolen the night before.

"Has anyone come from the FBI? CIA?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't falter with her nerves. "Anyone at all?"

"No…just cops.."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

She nodded uncomfortably, feeling the stolen contents of her coat pocket burning against her. The police officers stared back at her, equally as uncomfortable.

"What would you like us to do?"

She sighed inwardly, attempting to put her paranoia to one side and hold herself together.

"These need to go to the Bureau," she ordered, her eye stumbling over the bodies at her feet. "Pronto."

Instead of nodding, they hesitated and looked at each other nervously, much to her annoyance.

"What's the matter?"

"The suspect," one of the police officers reminded her. "What would you like us to do?"

She looked back at the police officer with confusion, until she heard a scuffling from across the diner and followed the sound with her stare. On the opposite side of the diner stood a door labelled 'staff only' with a keypad on the side – presumably locked.

"The suspect…?" she lowered her tone nervously, reaching for her weapon.

She checked her gun was loaded, twice, attempting to gather her thoughts.

"Is he in there?" she asked quietly, indicating to the door. "Did you lock him in there?"

"Yeah…" one of the police officers replied, hesitating. "We had to…"

She took one more look at the battered police officer dead at their feet – his injuries severe.

"Aren't you armed?"

The police officers looked at each other warily lacking in answers, much to her frustration.

"Didn't you hear me?"

In that very moment, the sound of something heavy and strong threw itself against the door from the other side.

"We shot him…"

She swallowed, feeling her heart race in her chest.

"Did you miss?"

"No."

For the second time, the alarming sound of someone attempting to break down the door resonated and she felt her nerves lurch violently in cold fear.

She attempted to think, somehow, what she needed to do, how she would deal with this situation, how on earth she would kill _that thing_ behind the door. She checked her gun for a third time, her hands trembling in panic causing the round of bullets to spill out onto the diner floor with several clinks.

"Fuck-"

In frustration she crouched down to retrieve the bullets, and suddenly the sound of glass windows shattering with the onset of bullets stung her ears. The police officers, who had been standing beside her just a moment before collapsed in a hail of gunfire, dead with the other bodies. She screamed in fear, just for a moment, until she hushed herself in a ball of severe panic as she crouched down on the floor behind a table. Her lungs burned in sheer terror as she felt herself starting to hyperventilate. There was blood on her. The sound of banging against the staff room door had stopped, allowing a sort of silence except for the ringing of gunshots in her ears and the sound of her own ragged breath.

Clutching the gun she held in her hands, she forced the round of bullets back inside the weapon, alarmed that her momentary slip of the fingers had saved her life. She sat there, as still and as quiet as possible, attempting to hold her breath to calm her breathing, and just waited for the sound of movement.

Several moments passed into calm, until she heard the sound of footsteps outside. She paused, praying silently to herself. In the corner of her eye, one of the police officers stirred on the floor next to her. The sudden movement of the man she had thought dead frightened her, but her attention was stolen away by the sound of smashing glass. A bottle had been thrown through the window, closely followed by several more – on fire.

It took only seconds for the fire to catch on to the surroundings, sending shockwaves of adrenaline through her body –_ she had to escape._

As sh_e _began to crawl away from her position, the hand of the surviving police officer snaked up on her ankle, a plea for help that she could only respond with a sharp kick away with the severity of her high heeled shoes. The flames caught on quickly in a matter of seconds, and she forced herself up onto her feet, into the kitchen. There were no windows there. Only a fire exit, which she threw herself at, and escaped.

She remembered her car was parked on the street behind the building, and ran to it, hoping whoever had tried to kill her wouldn't see her escaping. Not a single person passed her by, but in her panic she failed to notice the desertion of the usually busy road. Her car was where she left it, much to her relief.

Retrieving her car keys with trembling hands, she thought about where to go, where she could go to _be safe_ after her own blatant assassination attempt.

She only had one place in mind. Or at least, one person.

By the time she had driven away, smoke was pouring out of the broken windows of the diner. She felt sick, but kept her foot down on the accelerator the whole way, fearing for her life. The usual time it would've taken to drive to the Bureau was halved, and she arrived just 15 minutes later. She ignored the stares of her colleagues as she made her way inside, struggling to maintain calm. She took the elevator up to the Violent Crimes department, ignoring someone she passed in the corridor who dared to say a hello to her, and failing to take notice in the desertion of the entire department, until she got to her office. She opened the door expecting to see Agent Mulder at his desk – except he wasn't there – and someone else was.

"Skinner…"

He stood there by the desk staring back at her. Startled and not expecting to see him in her office alone, she shut the door behind her, unable to tear her guilty eyes away from his.

"Where's Agent Mulder?" she asked, her voice faltering and barely audible.

Her eyes dared to examine the room around them – many of the drawers, much of which had been locked, were now open.

"You tell me." He replied forcibly.

"What are you doing in my office?"

Skinner thought momentarily, attempting to word himself carefully. He noticed in those few moments of standing there that she was shaking.

"Is there something you want to talk to me about?" he asked, approaching her cautiously.

She said nothing, alarmed that all the drawers in the office were open_… He had gone through everything, he knew, he knew something_, she was convinced by the look in his eyes as he walked towards her.

"An envelope?"

He stopped dead in his tracks as she pulled out her gun and pointed it straight at him.

"Sarah-"

"Who have you been speaking to?"

"That's a question I should be asking you-!"

"Answer me!" she snapped, struggling not to break.

"No - **you answer me**," he replied forcefully. "I heard your little after dark meeting last night, Beckett,"

She scoffed sarcastically, tightening her grip on the weapon pointed at him.

"Liar."

"I know you're taking orders from elsewhere-"

"You don't know anything,"

"C.G.B. Spender," he insisted, staring down the barrel of her gun. "Isn't it?"

He watched the expressions in her face carefully, changing at the mention of the Cigarette-smoking man's name.

"What orders are you taking from him?" he asked, calmer this time.

"I'm not…" Her voice continued to falter.

"Don't lie-"

"I'm not lying!" she cried, her eyes welling up in distress. "He tried to kill me."

Skinner paused, hesitating.

"What?"

"He tried to kill me, earlier…" she insisted. "He set me up…"

"How?"

"He called me, told me where to go," she spoke. "I had something to hand over to him,"

"The envelope?"

"Its contents."

Skinner nodded, his focus still firmly on the gun pointed at him.

"What are the contents?" he asked suspiciously.

"A memory card." She replied. "Evidence."

"Evidence for what?"

She paused momentarily.

"Agent Scully's abduction."

He thought carefully about her words, yet he felt a strange sort of anger bottling up inside him at her admission. Maintaining his calm front, he tried to ignore the weapon in his face he feared she would use on him.

"Is this why Agent Mulder had the memory card?" he asked shakily in anger. "And why you stole it back?"

She nodded, plainly.

"I had orders," she spoke callously. "Mulder interfered. It was entrusted to me to stop this."

"And to keep them apart?" he questioned her, remembering the contents of the conversation he heard the night before.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Interference." She replied. "On Mulder's part."

"Interfering with what?"

"Experiments."

Skinner sighed, frustrated.

"What 'experiments'?"

"Medical tests on a variety of subjects," she explained. "There's a virus."

"And what has that go to do with Agent Scully?"

"Agent Scully was exposed during her abduction."

She swallowed out of sheer nerves as she spoke, his eyes hard on her.

"Most have died. The few that didn't became extremely aggressive, hard to control…" she said. "Except Agent Scully."

"Why-"

"Biological Warfare gone wrong." She replied casually. "Agent Scully is an extremely valuable subject to the company... They can't allow interference - And they won't let her go until they get what they want."

Skinner felt his skin shiver in cold fear at her words.

"What do they want from her?"

"Her life." She replied, nonchalantly, which only added to his anger.

"I won't let that happen," Skinner insisted in torment. "Agent Mulder won't let that happen-"

"It's already happening."

Skinner shook his head, his insides churning in dread.

"How can I stop this?"

"That's highly classified information."

To her surprise he grabbed her wrist holding the gun, and forced it out of her hand without much struggle. It fell to the floor, before he kicked it aside out of reach, and held her tightly by the arms to restrain her.

"Let go of me or I'll scream-"

"Answer my question." He demanded, his strength overpowering her struggle to free herself.

"Why would I do that?" she snapped back.

"_Because I will expose you_," he replied abruptly. "And all your associates involved in this,"

She stared back at his stern face as he restrained her.

"Tell me." He repeated.

"What's in it for me?" she asked brazenly.

He stared into her bloodshot eyes which had clearly welled up in distress.

"I can assure your safety,"

"You can't."

"I **can**," he insisted. "But only if you tell me everything I need to know."

She thought carefully, feeling dizzy with anxiety and afraid of the man holding her under his grip – she knew she had very little choice in the matter.

"You have a deal."


	19. Close to Home

_Chapter Nineteen – Close to Home_

* * *

"Don't let her out of your sight,"

He felt waves of unease begin to wash over him.

"I already have…"

His words had barely escaped his lips, when a terrible screaming was heard outside the window.

"What the hell is that?"

Byers and Frohike made their way over to the window, normally blackened up with a thick curtain to stop prying eyes, and pulled it aside. The screams continued, what sounded like a woman.

"Mulder-"

Perplexed, he followed their steps over to the window, peering past the shorter men and the pulled back curtain. The apartment building itself only had 4 floors – not high up enough in his opinion – and the scene on the street outside unavoidable to his eyes.

He saw the blood first, spattered across the concrete. The woman who had been screaming had slumped down to the floor beside the body of a man beaten into a bloody mess. Several people had gathered round, staring in shock.

Mulder felt his heart jump in his chest as he flew into action, reaching for his gun.

"What are you doing-"

"My job, what else?" he replied briskly, gun in hand and moving away from the window to leave.

"Mulder wait!"

He ignored their concern, as well as his damaged arm still recovering in a medical sling, and rushed downstairs. The other men followed him, Langley managing to grab the baseball bat they kept by the front door on the way out. They made their way down several flights of stairs, to the front door of the apartment building.

Mulder struggled to open it, his working arm occupied by his weapon.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Byers asked him nervously, his hand now on the door handle.

"Yes." He replied, urging him to open the door.

Hesitantly, Byers opened it, and Mulder stepped out with Langley and the baseball bat closely followed. The few people they had seen gathering round the body and the woman had disappeared. They rushed over to the woman, now resting on her side. She was bleeding from her mouth.

"Call 911," Mulder urged the men who stood behind him, attempting to hold himself together at the sight of so much blood.

Byers reached for his cell, suddenly noticing several strange men watching from across the road. He didn't speak for a moment, shocked, and unable to tear his eyes away from them.

"Mulder…"

Gun still firmly in his hand, he had approached the bleeding woman beside the already dead man, and proceeded to help her. She was crying silently and breathing sharply. Her stare remained on the body of the man beside her.

"Stay calm…" he whispered, kneeling down by her side. "Where are you hurt?"

She met his eyes momentarily, terrified and crying, attempting to speak. Blood trickled down over her chin from her mouth. He noticed her hand was clutching her stomach, and attempted to move aside her hand. As he did so, blood seeped through the material of her clothing onto his fingers.

He flinched slightly – horrified at the quantities of blood now seeping out of her.

"Oh-" he gasped under his breath, trying not to frighten her as he moved her hand back over the wound on her stomach.

"Mulder-"

He ignored Byers momentarily, and met the woman's eyes again.

"Stay calm….keep your hand here, apply pressure…"

"Mulder!"

He turned round to face the frightened men, annoyed.

"I told you to call 911-"

Noticing their eyes staring away from the scene, he followed to their focal point – and felt his skin shiver involuntarily.

Two men stood across the road, staring back at them, dirty and dishevelled. Their faces were not normal. Their arms too long and their hands misshapen, deformed. There was something wrong with them; and yet they stared on.

At first he wondered if they were homeless men, drug addicts, something, who had been simply passing by. But he noticed blood stained on the dirtied material of their clothes, and a long sharp blade in one of their hands.

He felt adrenaline begin to pump around his body in fear, and forced himself to act quickly as the moments passed by.

"Take her inside the apartment, call an ambulance…" Mulder said as calmly as he could, feeling nothing but strange fear inside.

He felt unable to take his eyes off the staring men.

Byers and Frohike obediently came to his side and helped the struggling Agent to lift the woman up off the floor. They were gentle with her, however panic began to set in when the men began to approach, slowly. Mulder turned to face them, pointing his gun at the one with the blade nervously as Byers and Frohike disappeared inside the building with the woman.

"Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air..."

He waited, several moments, hoping and praying they would listen and obey. But it was too much to ask for. His heart jolted in his chest as they ignored his demand, passing through the flow of traffic as they walked across the road towards him.

"Drop your weapon or I'll shoot."

Langley came to his side, baseball bat at the ready, not expecting Mulder to shoot. He flinched slightly as he watched the Agent fire at the man with the blade, the bullet going straight through his leg.

Several cars swerved to a halt as the bullet had been fired, causing panic.

The man who had been shot seemed unharmed, clutching his blade tightly.

"I said _drop your weapon_-"

Both men continued through the traffic, mere feet away from Mulder and Langley. Taking several steps backwards, he fired a second round at both men this time, who still seemed unaffected.

"Mulder get inside-"

Hesitating and shocked, he stood there determined to fire again until he felt Langley pull sharply on his arm and drag him towards the apartment building door. They made their way inside, slamming the front door shut and locking it. The men outside ran up to the front door, slamming themselves against it, attempting to smash their way in. They howled angrily, grunting and banging their fists against the glass window in the middle of the solid door. Their eyes stared in as they pressed themselves against the door, black and large, almost animalistic.

"Will the door hold?"

"I-I don't know…"

It terrified him down to the core to the extent his gun felt nothing more than a dead weight in his hand. However in his despair and terror, his eyes noticed the distinct red marks on their necks. They both had it – at the jugular - and worst of all, he'd seen the same puncture wounds before, _the exact same_, on a familiar person.

"What do we do now?"

Mulder swallowed, attempting to pull himself together. He was shivering.

"Upstairs…" he murmured, backing away from the door and heading for the stairs. "We need to go inside…"

At the foot of the stairs lay droplets of blood, leading up the staircase. The fear and adrenaline which had temporarily distracted him was sobered up by reality - the woman they had brought in from outside - and felt his stomach sink nervously. They rushed up the stairs, frightened by the sounds of banging on the door behind them, and made their way up to the top. Once up to the fourth floor, they walked down the corridor to their apartment, where several neighbours and both Byers and Frohike were gathered round. The woman lay on the floor.

"What's going on…"

They looked up as Mulder and Langley approached; their faces said it all.

"She's dead."

##

It was getting dark outside, and The Cigarette-smoking man grew weary.

He watched through the glass window, intently, lacking emotion. A woman lay on the bed, her face turned a away from the window. She was blonde, older, familiar. The doctors were working on her, just as he had ordered them to.

Taking a long drag off his cigarette, he heard a voice over his shoulder.

"She's immune."

The Cigarette-smoking man turned to the man beside him, his colleague.

"Both doses of the virus were ineffective," he continued, following the Cigarette-smoking man's eyes as they remained focused on the subject. "Aside from a few side effects…she'll recover."

He exhaled deeply, stubbing out his cigarette on the glass.

"Bradford."

The other man met his cold eyes, confused.

"Bradford?"

The Cigarette-smoking man nodded.

"Erica Bradford," he continued, turning his stare back to the woman on the bed.

"She was carrying a driver's license under the name Faye Smith…"

"A False identity..." The Cigarette-man interrupted. "She's an abductee."

He felt the other man's eyes on him again.

"An abductee?"

"Yes," he replied, sighing slightly. "She was part of the programme conducted on a number of women several years ago, along with Agent Scully,"

The other man nodded.

"Is there a connection..?"

"Yes," he replied, "An alarming one."

He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, and lit up.

"The chip, in the neck," he uttered, inhaling smoke. "It destroys anything threatening the body, contagion, disease, pregnancy and so on…"

The other man swallowed uncomfortably.

"We were wrong - these women are not immune," He continued. "No one is."

"But what about the chip?" he asked, anxiously. "We won't need a vaccine."

"It's useless." He explained, bluntly. "It makes them sterile."

Taking the cigarette smoke down into his lungs, he caught a glimpse of her face as she turned unconsciously against the pillow. He remembered it well, particularly the fear in her eyes the first time they experimented on her several years ago. He remembered all their faces.

"What would you like me to do?"

He thought momentarily, exhaling smoke.

"Its over." He replied. "Burn it all."


	20. The Fire

_Chapter Twenty – The Fire_

* * *

It was evening, and the onset of darkness was fast approaching. He parked the car, an unmarked one, around the block and out of sight from the immediate front of the building. From what he could see, not a single light was on inside. The area was deserted, besides the few cars parked belonging to nearby apartments.

"Where is everyone?"

Agent Beckett shrugged callously, the metal cuffs around her wrists clinking in movement. Walter Skinner had made sure they were on tightly and well attached to the frame under the car dashboard.

"Looks like you're in luck." She murmured quietly to herself.

Skinner switched off the engine, looking around for passers-by. There were none. It felt strange, and the lack of lighting in the building they were headed for made him nervous. It had been her idea to cut the power to the building, which she advised would disable all the locked doors inside amongst other defences. They had taken a detour to the nearest power hub, and in a matter of minutes she was finished. It was more than obvious she had done it before.

Her unknown past made him uneasy – he didn't trust her in the least – but he had little choice in the matter if he wanted to help Scully. _At least_ he told himself, _he was heavily armed_.

He reached into his coat pocket, for the keys to the handcuffs.

"I need you to listen carefully," he spoke calmly. "I'm going to unlock the cuffs, and you are going to get out the car."

She nodded.

"You need to show me the easiest way in to the building undetected."

"I'll be needing my weapon back." She insisted.

"No," he informed her abruptly.

"Then no deal." She snapped, losing her patience. "They'll arrest me on sight."

"I've already thought that through." Skinner replied, opening the dashboard compartment to retrieve a gun.

Her eyes lit up momentarily – a Beretta machine pistol.

"It's empty." He explained, double checking himself. "But they won't know that."

She hesitated in exasperation, her eyes catching sight of the metal keys in his hand.

"Fine." Sarah agreed reluctantly. "Just untie me…"

He said nothing and reached for her wrists, which already had become tainted with friction burn in her attempt to free herself which he chose to overlook.

"Remember what I said – get out of the car, and I will follow you." He reminded her, as he unlocked the handcuffs.

Once unlocked, she took back her wrists from his grip a little quicker than he had anticipated and immediately pointed his weapon straight at her. She stared straight back at him, now free, her eyes firmly avoiding the barrel of the gun pointed at her face.

"You'll be needing this…" he said, handing her the decoy gun.

She took it from him, and stepped out of the car – more than aware of the gun still pointed at her. Skinner followed, gun still firmly on the ready and the evening darkness now surrounding them. In silence, she led him across the empty road and down the street alley, a shortcut. They walked quickly and stealthily, concerned by the lack of people and the sound of nothing besides their footsteps. It was on the outskirts of town, yet not even the sound of distant cars on the road could be heard. At the end of the alley, they came to a black gate with a camera pointed at it – the back entrance. It was unlocked, and the camera did not move – all thanks to the power cut.

Hearing nothing coming from behind the gate, Sarah opened it slowly, peering round into the darkened courtyard. Not a soul in sight.

She hesitated, checking the area as best she could to make sure she hadn't missed something.

"What is it?" Skinner whispered.

"No guards." She whispered back, allowing him to see through the gap in the gate.

They opened the gate quietly, and crept through into the court yard. The door to the building itself was wide open, just beyond the court yard, and yet again there were no guards. Skinner and Beckett approached cautiously, guns at the ready.

"Where is everyone?" he whispered, feeling his heart pounding in his chest with nerves.

They came to the wide open backdoor, and let themselves inside. With the power cut, not a single light was on or working in the building besides the gloomy emergency lights scaling the length of the corridor into the building. Skinner retrieved his torch, attempting to make sense of the darkened setting they were in.

They opened several doors on the ground floor, all of which appeared to be unlocked after the power cut, only to find near empty darkened rooms. Paper work was scattered everywhere. He picked up a handful of papers, and pointed his torch onto the documents to read.

"It's unreadable.."

"It's encrypted," Sarah whispered to him in the dark. "For protection."

Shining his torch around on the the mass of scattered papers, he felt his sense of unease worsen.

"Then where is everyone?" he asked, nervously.

"I-I don't know…"

Instead of questioning why the building appeared to be abandoned, they hurried along, and kept as quiet as possible. They made their way through the ground floor rooms, checking that they were truly alone as they approached the stair case.

"She'll be on the 1st floor," Sarah informed him as they took to the stairs.

"What about the other floors?"

"Laboratories and storage." She whispered, her voice barely audible. "With the power out, I don't recommend we go up there."

"Why not?"

"All the doors will now be unlocked," she replied anxiously. "They like to keep their nasties up there…"

Skinner swallowed nervously, denying himself the opportunity to ask more.

"I suggest we keep very quiet not to disturb them." She continued, lowering her voice as they got to the top of the stairs at the 1st floor.

As quietly as they could, they opened the doors to the 1st floor and walked through. It was dark and silent in there, except for the glimmer of the torch and the emergency lighting. The corridor was much shorter than the one downstairs, however there were no papers and no mess. It appeared to be the familiar scenery of a normal apartment building, carpeted floors and potted plants shadowing the darkness. There were several doors, all numbered in fancy gold plates.

"Which one is it?"

"Door number 3."

Already aggravated by her involvement in the abduction of one of his Agents, he chose not to concern himself with her detailed knowledge of the building and Scully's whereabouts, and instead urged her forward towards the door. He refused to turn his back on her.

She opened the unlocked door, slowly and as quietly as she could, cringing slightly as it creaked on its hinges. The apartment inside was less dark, the curtains allowing some light in from the night sky outside. There was no movement, and so both Agents let themselves in. Skinner shut the door behind him.

They walked through into the living area, turning off the torch to allow their eyes to adjust. Something bright outside, what seemed like a street light on the road, made it possible to see in the apartment. Everything seemed normal enough, a sofa, a television set, the table in the kitchen… _but no signs of life_.

"There's no one here…" Sarah spoke quietly, peering her head round the bathroom door. "They must have taken her with them…wherever they have gone that is..."

Skinner felt his heart lurch in his chest at the thought that they had come too late. He thought uncomfortably, unsure of what to do or say. The light outside the living area window appeared brighter and warmer in the few moments that he stood there, and now that his eyes had adjusted to the new levels of darkness he was able to see properly. There was a bedroom door, and it was shut. He failed to take any notice of the strange lights beyond the window outside in the darkness, and approached the door.

He opened it, shining his torch on the darkened scenery of the bedroom. A chest of drawers, a cupboard…and the silhouette of a body on the bed.

He felt a shiver run down his spine as he shone the light over the body, daring himself to identify it, as he had done in the forest up at Cherry Hill several months ago with Agent Mulder – however this time, there was no doubt about identification.

"Scully-"

He approached her, lying across the dishevelled bed on her side, face down in the sheets. He felt himself begin to fall apart at the realisation and gently turned her over onto her back. Blood trickled from her mouth.

With shaking hands, he put the gun down next to her on the bed and felt for a pulse. As he touched her at the puncture wounds on her neck, he felt her breathe in sharply beneath him and turn her neck away from his touch.

"She's breathing," Skinner confirmed, his voice shaking. "She's alive…"

Beckett approached his side, laying eyes on the sight of the other Agent for the first time. _The bleeding from the mouth_, she remembered, _was a common reaction to the virus_,_ as well as a comatose state for hours at a time_. She had learned that from her time spent with the Cigarette-smoking man and his associates. And of course, the puncture wounds at the neck were more than apparent.

"Scully…" Skinner called to her, wiping away the blood at her mouth.

Feeling his hands on her again, she opened her eyes blearily, struggling to adjust to the brightness of the torch.

"We need to get her out of here…" he insisted, looking to Beckett. "We need to take her to a hospital,"

"No," Beckett spoke suddenly. "_Don't take her there_."

"Why?"

"They have connections," she explained calmly. "They will only take her back."

"But she's bleeding…"

She stood closer to his side, noticing the gun he had left on the bed, in her reach.

"It's just a temporary reaction to the virus," she explained further, her eyes intent on the gun.

Skinner helped her up from the bed, carrying most of her weight as she struggled to stand on her feet. He turned his back for just a few moments, concerned for the life of the younger Agent he was attempting to save. As her eyes took a moment to adjust to the torch light, she lifted her head to look at Skinner who was talking to her, trying to reassure her she was going to be ok. Instead she caught sight of the gun now pointed at them.

"Sir…" she spoke for the first time, her voice weary and struggling.

He held her tightly, concerned by the sound of her voice and her wide eyes staring intently over his shoulder. The sound of a gun clicked behind him.

"Give me the car keys."

Skinner turned to face the resentful Agent, pointing his gun at him.

"That's not what we agreed."

"You got what you wanted," she spoke, losing her temper fast. "Now give me the fucking car keys."

Reluctantly he reached into his coat pocket, and retrieved the keys which she snatched from him at first sight. However she kept the gun pointed straight at them, and he urged Scully behind him, holding tightly onto her arm.

Sarah approached him, gun firmly resting against his torso as she retrieved the other two weapons he carried on him. Once she had disarmed him, she backed away.

"Sarah-"

"Shut up." She snapped, now fully armed. "It's done."

Skinner dared not speak further, now that she had exactly what she wanted. She backed herself out of the room, and rapidly out of the apartment with the car keys and a substantial amount of weaponry. The front door shut loudly, and he hoped that no one in the building, particularly whatever it was being kept upstairs, hadn't heard.

He turned to face Scully, whose arm he was still holding tightly on to. Her eyes glimmered in the darkness of the room, afraid and weary as he held her.

"Are you hurt?"

"I-I don't know…"

He moved her hair out of her face and cupped her chin gently, meeting her nervous eyes. She felt weaker than he had anticipated.

"Let's get you out of here," he whispered.

"Where am I?"

He hesitated.

"You don't remember?"

"I don't know…"

He led her through the bedroom and out into the living area, helping her gently as she struggled to walk by herself. As they came back into the living area the bright light outside had fully manifested itself into its true nature. There was a burning smell.

Skinner left her side and went to the window, the heat hitting him immediately. The building was on fire.

"Scully we need to leave." He spoke urgently, turning back to face her.

She hesitated to speak, the reflection of the fire outside prominent in her eyes. He grabbed her by the arm again, urging them both out the front door into the corridor. He wondered what had happened to Sarah and where she had gone, until he saw the door at the end of the corridor had smoke billowing underneath it from the other side. _There was no way they were going through there_.

"We're trapped..." Skinner spoke, looking around for another exit on the corridor.

It was no surprise there were no emergency exits. The door at the end of the corridor wobbled slightly in its frame, as if someone was pushing against it. He stared at it for a moment, wondering if the force of the fire was about to push it open.

He felt her pull on his arm.

"Let's go back inside." She insisted, her voice shaking nervously.

He followed her, shocked by the movement of the door and the smoke that threatened to burst through with the flames.

The window at the front of the living area was now lit up fully, the fire licking the edge of the glass, presumably from the floor below.

"Is there a window in the bedroom?"

"Yes…"

Again he followed her into the bedroom, back into the darkness. The window was above the bed, narrow, but just big enough to fit through.

"It doesn't open," she informed him. "We'll have to smash it."

With his torch, he looked for something to smash the glass with in the darkness. Being a temporary home for her, there wasn't much lying around besides the radio and the lamp on the bedside table…both of which he grabbed and attempted to smash the glass with.

"Cover your face…" he warned her, struggling to break through.

_He only hoped it wasn't reinforced glass._

After several panicked attempts, it finally cracked and caved in, glass everywhere. Carefully he pulled her onto the bed, making sure not to waste time, avoiding the glass shards as best as he could. The drop wasn't too far being only on the 1st floor, and from what he could see, the fire hadn't spread to their side of the building.

He helped her through the empty window frame, holding her tightly so she didn't fall or slip on the broken glass.

"I-I can't…"

"You can…" he assured her, feeling as nervous as she was.

The drop wasn't far, but certainly too far to land comfortably. He hesitated, adjusting his position on the bed until he realised something.

"Scully, I have an idea…" Skinner said, looking down at the bed sheets they were standing on.

He lifted her onto the window ledge, avoiding the glass and making sure she was safely balanced, before stripping the bed of its duvet as quickly as he could.

"What are you doing?" she asked, watching from the window ledge anxiously.

Once the bed sheets were off, he thrust one end of them into her hands.

"I'll hold this," he replied. "You climb, it'll break the fall."

"What about you?"

"Just do it, I'll be fine," he insisted, making sure he had tight grip of the duvet.

Again Scully hesitated, but hearing the roar of the fire grow closer from inside the apartment terrified her.

"Hurry…" he urged her, frightened by the smell of smoke growing stronger behind him.

Frightened, she clambered out of the window, holding tightly onto the duvet as she went. The fall seemed further now than it did at the window, and she felt the temptation to scream, but held back in fear that someone would hear her.

"Let go, Scully," she heard him say from above, "It's not far."

The drop below overwhelmed her, but with all her might she let go and fell. She landed uncomfortably on the grass in the courtyard, hurting her ankle in the fall. She felt breathless as she had the air knocked out of her lungs in the fall, but somehow forced herself up onto her painful ankle against her will as adrenaline kicked in. It was difficult, and she leaned against the wall of the building for support. She waited for Skinner to follow, hearing a strange sound coming from round the corner of the building. A sound she could only describe as forced fire and footsteps.

She peered around the corner of the wall, slowly and quietly to remain hidden. There were several men, wearing full body suits that covered their identity. They were faceless. However it was their weapon of choice that sent waves of panic through her – flamethrowers. They were burning the building, deliberately, and no doubt attempting to destroy whatever was inside.

With a crash, she heard Skinner fall from the window. The sound enough to draw the attention of the men, who looked up and caught sight of her watching them. She gasped, and pulled herself back from their view – but it was too late – she'd been seen.

"Run-" she cried frantically, helping the bruised man up from the ground.

He struggled to catch his breath, affected by the fall and confused by her urgency.

"Now!"

The sound of footsteps and fire came closer. The men approached.

"**Run**!"


	21. The Night

_Chapter Twenty One – The Night_

* * *

The body of a young woman lay in the corridor of the apartment block. The few attempts to resuscitate her had failed – Mulder had tried – however she had simply lost too much blood.

He removed his hands from her for the last time, shaking and stained with her blood. For what had seemed just mere moments of trying had actually been nearly 15 minutes. He didn't want to give up on her, not when he remembered his training and the potential to save life with sheer persistence, but in the end he was stopped against his will when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Mulder,"

The sounds of smashing glass resounded up the stairs to the fourth floor.

"We need to get inside," Byers insisted, his eyes full of fear.

The FBI Agent nodded, fully aware of the three men and several neighbours staring at him and the body at their feet. He felt dazed and seemed unaware that he was shaking, until Langley and Byers pulled him to his feet and away from the body of the woman. Her eyes remained half open, blue and familiar enough to taunt him. They appeared to stare endlessly.

"We can't just leave her,"

With the weakness in his damaged arm, his attempts to shrug the men off him had little effect.

"They're inside the building-"

"Lock the doors, call the police…."

In the next few moments he finally allowed the men to pull him into the apartment, his eyes firmly attached to the dead body until she was out of sight behind the closed door. The sight of her had more than burnt itself into his retinas. He thought of Scully and felt overwhelmed, even after he was wrenched from his thoughts by the sound of panicked voices.

"We need to barricade the door…"

He swallowed nervously, attempting to fulfil the impossible task of pulling himself together.

"The table…" he spoke, indicating to the heavy oak table right in the centre of the room.

It was covered in computers and hardware – heavy stuff – and exactly what they needed.

Langley, Byers and Frohike began moving computers off the table, ready to push it up against the locked door. Struggling with his arm, Mulder helped them push it across the room towards the door, unaware of the woman's blood on his hands leaving faint prints on the wood. The table was a lot heavier than they had anticipated, but it worked and they felt temporarily safe.

They stood in front of the blocked up doorway, breathing a little heavily from the heavy lift and unsure of what to say. It had gone very quiet beyond the apartment door. For just a few moments, none of the men allowed themselves to speak. They simply listened.

Mulder could hear his heartbeat pounding furiously in his chest amidst the silence. He was afraid, and his head ran wild with the possibilities of what was going on beyond the apartment door, _where had they gone and why was it so quiet all of a sudden?_

He looked down at himself, finally noticing the woman's blood stained across his formerly crisp work shirt. Trying to ignore the terrible urge to find the nearest sink and wash it off he hid his horror and looked to the other men.

Byers had the cell phone – and appeared to be hesitant. He met Mulder's eyes and simply mouthed the words: 'no signal'.

"What about the Emergency SOS?" the agent whispered under his breath.

Byers shook his head.

"There's nothing – no phone line whatsoever." He replied, handing him the phone.

Mulder dialled the number himself, just to confirm that there was nothing, _not even a dial tone_. Feeling his already racing heart pick up the pace, he reached for his own cell phone in his suit pocket only to be faced with the same problem.

"What the hell is going on.." he cursed under his breath.

He sighed frustrated, trying to think as he looked to the computers strewn about. Frohike had wandered over to the window.

"How's your internet connection?"

"Down since the break in last night…" Langley replied quietly. "They cut a lot of _wires_…"

"Could they have cut the phone lines somehow?"

"No – I got through to you on my cell only a few hours ago," Byers interrupted. "This is new, this is something else."

"I think they're gone."

The men turned to Frohike who was looking intently out the window.

"Gone?"

Mulder followed over to the window, looking over the shorter man's shoulder. The body of the male victim lay bloodied on the street, where they had left him. And no one else. The street was empty.

"They must be inside," Mulder spoke, reminiscing the sound of the smashing glass they had heard earlier.

Even though it was getting dark, the streets desertion seemed unnatural. _Surely a dead body lying in public view in a street would've gathered attention_…. But there was no attention to gather. The few people and cars passing by were gone.

His eyes suddenly were drawn to a plume of smoke in the distance, coming from buildings several miles away on the other side of town. He didn't think anything of it at first, until he noticed more and more smoke coming from buildings all over the expanse of the entire city from his view at the window.

As an FBI Agent, his instinct was to call work and _find out what the hell was going on_…or call Scully and get out there himself. But with no phone lines, no internet and trapped inside an apartment on the 4th floor he was going nowhere, and worst of all there was no way of contacting Scully. Under the circumstances, there was no way he would allow himself to wait and see what happened next.

Along the window edge, he could see the metal staircase of the fire escape on the outside of the building. It was a jump, several feet from the window ledge, but if he could make it he could climb down and get out.

Without another moments thought, he removed the medical sling from his arm begrudgingly. It was an obstruction that he could no longer endure, regardless of the pain from his wounded arm and shoulder. He would be needing full use of his arms for this.

"Mulder what are you doing?"

"Something stupid," he uttered, wincing as he finally freed his arm. "I need to get this window open."

##

The night had immersed the city in the long hours of winter darkness. The streets were dead, partially because of the drop in temperature and the late hour of the night, however not even the Vagrants or Prostitutes dared to venture out lately. That's where it had begun. Amongst the homeless and the street workers. The stories had been rife for several months – stories of black cars abducting men and women off the streets, disappearing for weeks at a time. And then of course, the murders, often in broad daylight, brutal killings in the street and in public view. Some of the homeless had claimed to have recognised the killers, people they had known from a life living on the streets who had disappeared many months ago.

Yet their stories remained _nothing more than stories_…The police were not interested in rumours from Vagrants and sex workers. They had put most of the killings down to drugs and crystal meth, which everyone knew plagued the homeless with violence and deprivation. There was even talk of a new drug on the streets potentially being responsible for the murders and the deformed, damaged state of the killers. But still, the gossip went nowhere and it remained nothing more than cheap tabloid talk.

Society was oblivious to the nightmare that had unfolded around them, until that very night the streets began to burn.

The fire from nearby buildings cast shadows across the streets, rippling like waves.

In her dreams she felt it burning across her skin, the heat tearing her apart, the flames bright enough to blind her. Reluctantly she opened her eyes.

It took her a few moments to realise she had been dreaming. She took no time in sitting up from her position on the leather sofa, her skin covered in a soft blanket. Her eyes took a few moments to adjust to the darkness of her surroundings, the only light coming from the orange glow seeping through the window. At first it alarmed her, until she realised it was in the distance. Taking a second glance, she realised the city was burning.

Scully remembered.

She had awoken in the Board Room in Skinner's office, at the Bureau. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, aching with memory as it came flooding back to her unwillingly. Her body felt drugged.

There were voices in the office beyond the door separating the two rooms. Skinner was talking to someone.

Listening for a few moments, she struggled to hear specific words. She heard her own name a few times, and simply sat there and listened to the voices.

She had considered getting up, but her body resisted and ached. She wondered what they had done to her to make her feel this way. Closing her eyes for just a few moments she drifted in and out of consciousness, the light from the flames outside casting shadows that gave her reoccurring dreams of burning. For a while she believed she could hear Mulder's voice, to the extent she had convinced herself he was in the room next door, but she was too tired and weak to do anything. It simply comforted her to think he was there.


	22. Death Wish

_Chapter Twenty Two – Death Wish_

* * *

"Mulder what are you doing?"

"Something stupid," he uttered, wincing as he finally freed his arm. "I need to get this window open."

"Why?"

"I need to find out what's going on, get some back up…" he explained, attempting to lift the window pane up. "There must be a payphone around here…"

"What if they're still out there?"

Mulder exhaled sharply at the thought.

"Then I'll have to run." He replied uncomfortably. "That is if I can get down the fire escape…"

The men watched him, unsure of what to say and drawn to his injured arm and shoulder.

"With your arm?" Langley spoke.

"It's fine." Mulder insisted, ignoring the obvious.

Byers helped him lift the heavy window pane which had become stiff with rust.

"I'll go with you." He spoke, once the window had opened as far as it could.

Mulder shook his head.

"Stay here, keep watch,"

The men again had very little to say.

"Where is the nearest payphone?"

"On the other side of that apartment building…" Langley spoke up, indicating to the tall building in the near distance. "Although there's always the chance it's not working…."

It wasn't too far, at least, he hoped. Several moments passed, and Mulder tried not to think about the men who were possibly outside. Byers, Frohike and Langley however looked on in hesitation, watching the FBI Agent climb out the window to their 4th floor apartment.

His feet hit the ground with a jump a little harder than he had expected. The fire escape had long since rusted over, and the ladder wouldn't budge any further.

It was quiet outside, and dark. The dead body of a man lay on the sidewalk where they had left it. Mulder assumed he had been the dead woman's boyfriend at a mere guess, that's if they knew each other at all. It was more than plausible that they were just two random people caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In the few moments that passed, he looked up at the window to the men peering down at him. Something had startled them.

"Mulder!"

Still catching his breath from the climb down, he caught sight of figures in the corner of his eye.

"RUN!"

They'd seen him – the men who had tried to break in to the apartment building - and began pacing towards him. He felt the rush of adrenaline kick in hard and fast, sending him running as fast as he could away from the building and into the darkness of the streets. Hearing the scuffling of feet he knew they were following, and in turn ran faster hoping to get away. His gun clunked uselessly in his jacket pocket, a weapon that had no effect on these _men_…and so he kept running under the cover of darkness, avoiding areas lit by street lights in an attempt to lose them altogether. His panic worsened when he realised he had not passed a single person or car along the way. It was an urban area, full of housing and apartment buildings, and yet it was silent and deserted. He tried not to think about the possibility that he was alone in the darkness and there was no one to help him.

Through all of his panic, he reminded himself the reason he was out here – the payphone – and hoped that he was running in the right direction. It was hard to tell in the darkened streets and alleyways behind the apartment buildings and unlit shop fronts, and he had almost given up hope of finding the payphone altogether.

As he began to feel his skin sweat with exhaustion, he caught sight of blue flashing lights from around the street corner which were instantly recognisable. He ran towards them, ready to give up the fight at the thought that he would be run into the safety of Police.

However the cars waiting around the corner were not what he had expected. Whilst they had the same blue flashing lights, they were black and had no markings whatsoever.

At first the cars appeared abandoned, yet before he had time to think the sound of gunfire stung the air and deafened his ears.

In a hail of bullets he froze in utter fear, certain he had been shot. But it had been a narrow miss. The sound of two bodies behind him slumped to the ground, groaning and crying out. He didn't dare turn around, knowing full well that the men who'd been chasing him now lay dying just mere feet away from him.

"GET DOWN-"

No sooner had he turned to face the direction of the voice, they already had grabbed him roughly and pushed him to the ground with a gun in his back. He felt sharp pain as his damaged arm twisted beneath his weight.

The sound of footsteps continued around him, followed by the roar of flames. He struggled to turn his neck to look at whatever was going on behind him, but he could feel the heat of fire. The man who had him restrained began searching him, eventually finding his ID and weapon. He was immediately handcuffed.

"FBI…" the man confirmed, removing his gun from Mulder's back.

"And you are?"

Mulder felt himself lifted roughly off the ground by the strong pull of the man again. A second man approached, holding a semi-automatic firearm. He struggled to recognise who they were, or who they worked for. They were unidentifiable.

The man holding the firearm took notice in the blood on Mulders shirt.

"We need to check this one…" he spoke, and immediately Mulder felt himself restrained once more.

Unwillingly he felt his head pushed to one side, and the second man observed closely.

"Who are you?" Mulder asked, irritated and highly suspicious.

"No sign of any puncturing or scar tissue…" The second man confirmed to his associate.

"He's been exposed to infected blood," the first man replied. "He'll need to be quarantined."

"Get your hands off me." Mulder insisted, resisting the restraint of the man behind him.

The conversation of the men in restraint of him sent waves of panic through his entire body.

"What about the bureau?"

"They'll be informed."

"I said GET YOUR GOD DAMN HANDS OFF ME-"

The men stared unresponsively. A third figure came in to view, of which Mulder had failed to notice until now. Aside from the flamethrower they held in their grip, he was more concerned by their lack of identity. They were faceless.

"Who do you work for?" he asked, losing the battle to remain calm.

Under the grip of the men he felt himself trembling out of sheer fear, worsened by the gun pressing hard into his back.

"Is anyone going to answer me?"

"Agent, you will need to cooperate." The second man spoke.

He felt the man holding the gun to his back urge him in the direction of the unmarked car.

"Wait-"

In that moment he attempted to resist, he was struck hard in the side of the head with the barrel of a gun.

"You will need to cooperate." The voice spoke again, repeating itself.

Against his will, he did as he was told, the world spinning with the blow to his head and fearful of the weapon threatening to kill him. The faceless man and the man with the semi-automatic continued to watch, alongside the burning bodies of the dead men whom had chased him just minutes before.

As he was led to the car, he caught sight of a silhouette from behind the blackened windows. He dared to speak up once again.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Government Quarantine."

His heart was racing, and the door to the car opened, through which he was forced into.

"Whitewash him."

##


	23. Cold Light of Morning

_Chapter Twenty Three – Cold Light of Morning_

* * *

"Scully…"

A hand gently roused her from sleep. It was daylight.

"What time is it…?"

She struggled to find the strength to open her eyes, not that she needed to. Scully knew the voice.

"Early," Skinner replied. "6am."

_It sure as hell felt like 6am_….Her head was spinning. She took several moments to adjust to her surroundings, recognising the layout of the room immediately; she was still at the Bureau.

"What's happening?" she whispered, rubbing her eyes as her vision began to steady.

Scully opened her eyes again and looked to him, crouched down at her side. He hesitated.

"Sir?"

"I-I don't know." He replied.

Scully stared back at the older man, struggling to read his expression. It made her uncomfortable; perhaps as uncomfortable as he felt being in a position of authority and responsibility and now powerless to do anything.

She looked past Skinner's shoulder, his eyes watching her nervously from her side. There was no one else in the room with them, they were alone in the boardroom. Again, Scully felt uncomfortable. From the current circumstances as she remembered them in tattered fragments, she struggled to analyse and understand the situation. Her memory was a blur.

"The powers out," he suddenly spoke up, as they sat in silence.

_He was right_, she thought, as she looked around the room. The room had at least daylight, yet the lamp and the computer on Skinner's desk that remained on at all times of course was off. She had barely noticed until now.

"How long has the power been out?"

"A couple of hours," he informed her, attempting to maintain his calm, controlled exterior. "It's happening all over town."

She nodded hesitantly, wishing he would tell her exactly what _was happening all over town_…he either truly did not know or felt that he could not say. Scully dared not pry further for the moment.

However there was _one_ question she wanted answered.

"Sir, where is Agent Mulder?"

Again, she watched him hesitate momentarily. Her heart began to beat a little harder with nerves.

"I thought I heard him," she continued, pushing her hair out of her face uneasily as she tried to hide her anxiety. "Last night…"

"I don't know where Agent Mulder is." He informed her.

Her heart sank.

"Have you tried his cell?"

Skinner nodded.

"No one picks up." He explained, watching as she sat up from her position on the sofa. "Not even from his home phone…"

Scully rubbed her forehead nervously, attempting to ignore the headache she had been suffering throughout the night. The very thought of what kind of trouble Mulder had got himself into now only made it worse.

"I see…" she replied, exhaling and avoiding his eyes.

"Remember that the power is out, lots of phone lines are down after last night," he assured her. "It's not time to worry yet,"

Scully sighed inwardly, hoping he didn't see through the brave, icy front she kept. Her feelings were guarded, or at least she believed they were.

Skinner read her like a book.

"Under current circumstances, I'm certain it won't take long for us to hear from him," he guessed, "He'll want to know you're safe."

Again, the very idea of the _current circumstances_ did not help to calm her nerves.

"Safe from what?" she asked, her voice faltering.

Skinner met her eyes again as she spoke; they betrayed her brave exterior.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked her gently. "About last night?"

"Last night…" she murmured to herself, struggling to remember it all in sequential order.

_The fire_…

She turned her stare to the window, daylight stinging her eyes at first – however her memory stood correct – the fires had gone with the night leaving behind black smoke billowing across the city in plumes.

Skinner continued to watch her, concern filling her face.

"Dana,"

Scully felt his hand on her shoulder, which managed to pull her out of her thoughts. She turned back to face the man at her side.

"I need to go," she informed him, unable to swallow the worry that had firmly taken hold of her.

"Go where?"

"To Mulder's apartment," she spoke, the words uncomfortable on her tongue.

"Now?"

"Yes," she insisted.

His hand remained on her shoulder a few moments longer than she felt comfortable with. She attempted to pull herself up from the sofa and struggled, the remnants of Whitewash still strong in her bloodstream. Skinner helped her onto her feet; he had hoped she would simply sleep off any of the effects, but to no avail.

"Thank you…" Scully spoke quietly, holding on to his arms as she took a moment to steady herself.

"Let me take you," he offered.

She let go of her momentary grip on him.

"It's not safe," he continued, his eyes indicating to the scene beyond the window.

She didn't speak, and simply nodded in response. The thought of what was happening outside played on her mind. Her memory was in pieces, there wasn't much to remember as of yet. But she knew it would come, eventually. It concerned her, as did many things, but worst of all she couldn't help but feel that Mulder had probably got caught up in whatever it was that was going on. She hoped that she was just overreacting, over thinking even. As much as she would never admit to it, the very thought of something happening to him terrified her.

##


End file.
